The Cycle

A force to be reckoned with recounts its endless cycle.


*Trigger warning for Mental Illness.


Illustration by Jaden Tsan (Graphic Design Director, The Continuist) IG: @jadundun


By Zahra Yassiri (she/her, IG: @yassirizahra)


The world drowns


Void of any sound


They all drop dead -


The moment l open up,


An endless weep fills


Their tiny little head.


I am not graceful


Not at all, in fact


You'd cover your ears If

you heard my screams

Like a helpless mother

Deprived of a daughter,

Somewhere, grieving.

My voice isn't soothing

Chalk like, it scratches

The depths of despair I

choke while l cry

My eyes pop out

Of their sockets

Their heart plummets Eyes

averted, mere glances

Given like drops in a desert

I am only seen as a hazard.

A blizzard of emotions

Devours me of power I let

it slowly wash over The

remaining anger The rest is

all silence Till drought

takes over.