9-1-1
Parched throats breathing thick, acrid, plumes of
billowing, black smoke.
Tiny people on the set jumping up to the sky and
than crashing down to the ground.
A street full of black asphalt's thick concrete.
Orange hues of a purple's blues.
Napping in room 722 at Eleven "0" Seven
on 9/11.
I fell to the floor caving in from below.
Fire alarm's ringing bell.
My head began to sweat and swell.
As I was awoken to this living hell.
Two towers fell.
A tragic story I witnessed to tell.
By Jonathan Billet
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