Poetry

Gabrielle L. Tastet


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27 december 2011

Apocalyptic confusion

Emergency.
Quick doctor, can’t wait.
She was dead. She isn’t now.
Doctor what’s the trouble? Oh no, not you too!
run.
Run.
RUN.
Fast. As. Possible.
 Another one? What are they? Zombies? What is that?
Ah. Got bit.
I need help. No cure? INSANE.
Why?
Oh not the children too.
I’m a nurse, not my nature to kill.
But, the hunger aches in my stomach, nothing will fill it.
Oh just a bite of the patient.
No. Must. Resist.
Then, Nonsense.






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