she’s down the hall
laughing
that laugh of youth
- of getting laid at will
- of running nights w/o exhaustion
- of chasing dreams too big
too real and too close to be
a lie
memories flash fiction
she smiles into mirrors
w/o rejection
wolves bay at hallowed moons
her scent thick
they cry at the call
of her cunt
we would shoot them
one by one but perhaps
it’s best they take her
night would be quiet
and i might actually sleep
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