Run: Difference between revisions
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(Created page with "Here I am, again my friend. When will it stop, I don't know. My legs grow weak as I run. I cannot stop, lest my soul it rend. "What is this thing?" you ask of me. "That chases you past, the twisting forest." In my haste, as I flee. I refuse to turn my back and look. It counjures feelings never felt It strikes such fear. My bravery is gone. And as I feel, I may survive the chase. I feel it's breath upon my back. ~Goodbye {{centerdash}} <i>This poem was fo...") |
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