could it be that he's afraid you are the man in the woods threatening with knife, tempting to cut out his innocence for future use - in dying man's nightmare. could it be that he's afraid you are the man in the woods who froze his throat and filled his mouth for nothing more than a release - the tadpoles of Endorphine Creek. Could it be that he's angry because we useless saplings were just up the street, a rough-edged skipping stone away from the clenched voice - my big brother. Could it be that I'm sorry because had I heard him not even my tap root could have prevented me from becoming the mighty wooden predator who would have left the bladed-prey - without a prayer.
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