the dreaded art hole

pitter patter, a scent of lavender and- wait and see sad at this or that or assume it doesn’t matter, til there’s blood on the floor scittle scuttle, I was in trouble take me to your grotto under the forest growth back to you, back to you Say, what do you mean you’re lost to loving trees? Hold on, save yourself, it doesn’t help to insist how bad are you Hold on, oh you, tell me one more time how you aren’t a butterfly wriggled out, how did you figure that out? let me set my sights up to the bluest sky for now I’ll start to crawl