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Jan 2021
The moss has it made
Growing beneath the gazing light
Prying over tops of trees for a glimpse.
How I long to have it grow on my fingers.
Becoming one of the zombied dead
Feeding stories shared beneath the trees.
My skull grins at the thought.
Lazing daily, scary fading traceless
Painless.
I long to trade places
Written by
KG  25/M
(25/M)   
116
 
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