—it dances to death like forest fires
crumbling to it's knees
a parched plague with hungry eyes
that cannot feel its feet
upon its highest brow
the sweat freely gleams
all of this fun, it seems
has been a fever dream
it's a wicked little thing
and i bet they would all agree
because wicked knows as wicked does
and to them, it surely was
Hysterically,
RB
a/n: have a lovely winter solstice my dears.