They Smeared Shit on Their Skin so They Could Blend in at NightClinging to the Trees of a Forest Fire
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The smeared shit on their skin so they could blend in at night I can hear them howling
I can feel their footsteps all over my soft spots
Years of degeneration
The hell of a cold world surrounded by starving wolves
She sleeps soundly in our cave while I try to dig my way out of it
Trapped on the inside of my soft spots