The walk
Their sharp blades snag at my clothes,
I wish I was a brave, fearless and cunning fox who had an idea to free himself from this glut of catastrophe,
I sometimes think I'm suffering from someone elses curse,
I try to run but all I can do is advance slowly,
The pressure races to the top 24/7,
As if observing me a quiet whisper you'll never make it.
I can't move a muscle.
Not with all these thorns which have backfired against me.
by Annabelle
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