“The only one crying here is you El! Now shut up before I’ll-“
The last time I hear that coarse sound of his. He turns solid ice, cold as his last voice disappear in the abyss.
The three of us were never friends. Hurled towards the salty sea, we foretold our own end. As our raft took a bend.
El, ever since, imprisoned her tears. He, till the end, screamed for ears. I, from the beginning, begging for dear-
“Hope!” El chanted over a land shone. But he witnessed a mirage undone. And I, “We are not alone”.
Ever had a recollection of your own dream? Slowly but surely you whispered ‘Deja vu’ on the strict realm? Behold the mighty figure of your own emblem.
Chased us it did. He, “Run!” so we heed. The raft, ‘Farewell’ it bid.
Far from the gaze of our recollections, we hid in a cave. El began to cry, and he raised his hand in a rave. “Stop!” my voice gave.
Gone, gone, and gone.
El, “Sniff” without err, and care, as he lay dead and bare.
Scared, outside I go. Recollections at shore. My life is tore.
A violent churn. The ground to I, it yearn. El is stern.
Where do I even begin? To describe the hurt El inflict upon my skin. Crying still she, but this time with a grin. All because my mask is too thin.
-Axleina Maxwell
The Bornean 