THE INTERLOPER
Creeping,
as a mouse reaching
for cheese. Like a leech
carving a niche.
The Reaper is still
the flying monkey is not ill,
sits back and watches
as the bitch bleaches.
He is not blind,
but has his mind
set like the sun to the west,
nothing will perturb his rest.
The snitch creeps deeper,
the bitch falls over,
ashamed of their shit,
they hide under the sheet,
and make out in secret.
Right under the Reaper's nose
till the wind blows.
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