by Alex Dong | Student Contributor
My thoughts are too much, it’s too fast.
Pouring down, vomiting.
I can’t write as fast as my thoughts coming out from nowhere.
A man came up to me, stopped.
There was a poor little thing on the other end of the leash.
Man looked at me, without saying a word.
He kicked that dog, that poor little thing.
Still without saying a word, he walked across the street.
With that poor thing,
On the end of the leash,
On the edge of his life.