What was that? Strange and unforgiving. Pizza. Running. I still don't know. Smelling my socks. Ew.
Seeking Febreeze to ail the pain in my nose like a wildfire rushing through the hairs of ear.
Is it sweet perfume? FUCK NO. Is it the sweet smell of fresh mountain air? Hell Naw! Rancid. Decay. Death. Apple.
Are you hiding from me? I do not blame you, run my child. Pepperoni.
Are you hidden now? Olive. Are you crying yet? Yes. Good.
I am taking off my shoe now. You die. Death. Feet. Smell.
Tree. Are you an angel? I say not. Are you dead from the smell of my feet?
Yes.
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(Sorry, I couldn't resist!
)
Interesting poem Washington.
