Chase

Slapping,
klutzy
feet.

Run
faster
lethargy.

Better
squash
these
murmurs.

Forrest
dark
and
docile.

Screams 
slur
from
parched
folds.

Caught
by
the
tattler.

He
promised
forever.

Didn't
suppose
he
meant
in 
a
hole.

Topsy-turvy
starring
at
this
bloated
moon
crimson
leaks
from
flesh
stretched
into
easel.

What
day
is
it?

Friday
 The
13th.

Joy4no1