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Die Simcoein
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Move. Go.
Something shifts, remnant traces fall prey to brooms and Lysol.
First one, then another, and then there were none, but - Ah!
My eyes were closed in brief moments of joy while you were in your otherworld.
Urges of childhood
(what did I say?!)
yes, child, the id ran wild.
You can't take it with you,
It sleeps between the cracks of the hardwoods, and hides in the hollows of the drain,
And you are walking backwards in seven-league boots.
(All the girls around her say she’s got it coming, but she gets it while she can.)
Get back to where you once belonged.
Outlast? Hardly, and what a shock;
stomp, heave,
vomit.
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