Trinkets dance as the days roll along.
The leaves fall to the ground,
Damp and deteriorated
Waiting for the winter.
The girls ask what vixen I will become
But all I think of is the vixen I’ve been as the third year approaches.
It’s like Christmas and less like Halloween.
New gifts opened and the bad ones too.
How surreal it feels when it finally comes,
November second is not Halloween
It’s the day the monsters rose up,
From under the bed
And took you away.
Famous Last Words 
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