I'm your own allegory
In real time. Here are the woods.
They contain no fairytales.
They contain no narratives.
Narratives can't be contained.
They wing through, migratory,
Or fall dead to forest floors.
The horror story depends
On something like normalcy,
Something one could violate.
These woods you can't violate
Even if you cut them all
Down for houses, ships, and farms.
Those were your thoughts you cut down.
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