Compiling compost. Stacking the children of the woods. A chore ending with a memory I like the most. Breath in the air, runny noses, tightened hoods. A season of change, marshmallows to roast. Blood picking fights, swarms for goods. Spiked eggnog and dubious cider for toasts. Sweet dreams for rough days. Tart ones for the worst. Closing both windows, jumping without a gaze. Here I am I guess. Nice to clear the haze. Witness my bare flesh as I’m lost in my voided gaze. Here I am world, I’ve many pieces to give. I’m afraid these supplies and delicacies will not be enough alone for you to live. No greens here, no tenderous loins. Only sweet treats and weird dreams for your mind to sivv. Here I am I guess, out of my cave. It’d be nice if there were a few pieces someone saved.