Looming

Doom looms on the horizon. The last sliver of the sun sinks into shadows. My leaves will turn to dust. And I will be whittled down to my bare elements.

Sapped of my light. A cold, twisted beast stirs within.

It clogs my bones. My fingers weep.

So cold inside. Skin feels like it's on fire.

Kind of like getting microwaved, I guess.

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