Listening to: Nothing
Feeling: achy
Swiftly stalks the corn on the mob
To harvest fresh crop for the souls that they rob
And to each nimble creature that stands in its way
A newborn disease for its crime they must pay
To lie in its wake or die for its sake
The truth is quite certain yet spry to mistake
The vapid will rise and the wholesome will fall
While the ones that stayed real will endure none at all
Jess!!
did you write that?
because if you did
we should talk.
you're good.
O_o maddie