Goal- to write a rhyming poem.
The slime dripped through my hands, cold and greasy. My father looked at me, this wouldn’t be easy. He looked at me with a smile, the one i haven’t seen in a while. The last few years have been hard for him, 6 recorded deaths and hope so slim, I took one last look at the world around me, it was then I realised how bad this could be.
Then I stumbled, as i mumbled “this is it”, as I stopped for a bit.
The slime dripped down and I began to drown.