Death had sprung—some dying caw—for one she thought had been the law. They were most gone—they did not read. She would not care—he was her steed.
Some pond she’d seen had been felt through. Some ‘mommy’ wench was most untrue. They’d boil and she’d thunder proud—they would not care, she’d been too loud. It took the finding of that last. How her friend had finally passed. Eating dirt now down below—something with a boat did show. This girl would laugh herself and be—at last the one who was set free. Saving souls was where it’s at. Now the one was up to bat.
They wouldn’t know how long she’d peeked. How many times she’d scrolled their feed. Something in her told it true—I think this bitch—this bitch is you.