The bike sleeps against the wall.
Its frame is covered in spine chilling cobwebs.
Its breaks create obscure screams that echo tremendously.
Dust engulfs the seat beckoning you to sit on its unforgiving leather.
It’s wheels creak in agony like a groaning cut.
The spokes only companion is eerie moss.
The constricting strap strangles the bike.
The handle bars were controlled by the cherub.
Its headlights used to shine like the sun now their dim from age.
Where there was once a behemoth of a bike it’s now a puny vehicle accompanied with pedals.
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