do you like what i wrote?i call it "procrastination" im 13?

as hard as you listen, you can never hear them
muffled by the rhythm of the rain beating on the glass
you hear a small, smothered whimper
you stumble downstairs and wait
wait for a voice, wait for silence
minuets go by, then hours
you sit and sit...
suddenly you feel its cold, bony hand slither around your neck
it seems you've waited too long
 
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