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Sep 2019
An old man waddles n' hobbles, snickers n' snackers up the beaten path to the back door, bony fingers beating on my splintered shield.

A snail chasing me into a shallow grave.

Run to die? Die to run?
Run to die? Die to run?

I'll spend a lifetime making up my mind.
I still haven't decided.
Written by
TMReed  24/M/Austin, Texas
(24/M/Austin, Texas)   
346
 
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