SurcoS

The doubt she felt for him, they were always together, you turned me around, speaking of the long forgotten world, away.

I see your mediocre summer times two, apocalyptic fields of featherless birds, lying only, for the orange reaper, who will they be when the night falls,

Well, I guess you saw yourself by the lake that night, but you never woke as you should, instead you’re stuck, forever drifting, your tail larger still, your eye dripping into ocean drops.

The forest screams arbitrary green, silence it demands of the anachronistic survivor, counting as they once were, again they will rise, crawling, sinking,