Rumors

Who said that? Who said this? Whispers upon whispers, like rustling leaves in an acidic forest biome. A soul-sinking tune in the swarmed F major sings the sweetly sinister song of critical acquaintances. They carve lies into fallen trees, then press ink into paper, loving the attention that it brings. Who did that? I heard this. This forest has eyes, sly and scheming, they hunt their prey in the dark. Catch you when you're vulnerable, sink in their claws, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw... Falsehoods froth like spreading wildfire, as it spreads, reputations burn.