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Looming branches that tell no tales,
Soft whispers carried on gentle winds,
And the thoughts of the insane locked with in your own mind,
Tell you vilest stories for dead men’s ears only.

“They’re coming,
They’re coming,”
They yell,
They laugh,
They scream in your face.

Run as you must,
Flea for your life,
And fear what is to come,
But within this forest,
No one comes out alive.

Days and years will go by,
And still no exit will appear,
And the monsters,
They loom in the darkness,
At any moment going to attack.

In the end,
They will give you something magical,
A precious small white orb,
“Take it by the mouth.”
They instruct you,
And when you do,
The forest disappears
And happiness returns,
But only for the time being.





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