by Hanna O'Reilly about a year ago in sad poetry

Texts can kill.


July in Pennsylvania.

Windows down. Music up.

Turns. Stop signs. Hills. Up. Down. Around.

Around. Around. Around.

Countryside for miles. The sun is setting.


The car is spinning.

Spinning. Spinning. Spinning.

Your heart is beating.

Faster. Faster. Faster.

Sirens blaring. People screaming. But you don’t hear it. You don’t hear anything. You won’t hear anything. You’ll never hear anything.

Ever. Again.

A young girl runs towards you. Her name is unknown. Her story is unknown. But not for long.

Soon enough her story will be the talk of the town.

Headlines plastered. Your mother reads it.

Tears falling. Falling. Falling.

That’s it. That’s the end.

All of this because a girl had to hit-


sad poetry
Hanna O'Reilly
Hanna O'Reilly
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