Crunching through the trees,
Holding, waiting.
Holding his breath.
Even rows of gnarled wood
stretch like crooked teeth in the distance
And, finally, with great pleasure,
he dies.
The estate sale was a fucking gong show.
Crunching through the trees,
Holding, waiting.
Holding his breath.
Even rows of gnarled wood
stretch like crooked teeth in the distance
And, finally, with great pleasure,
he dies.
The estate sale was a fucking gong show.
nice one
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