“AHHHH RUN!!” ~~🟢🦉~~ A message from Duolingo Notified me from my phone And I had the sudden feeling I wasn’t alone Duo says it’s time Do your German Or else… You’ll be burnin’ So in a puddle of my own sweat I start my lesson But what gender is the bread?!?! That’s the question Another notification “No no nein” I say Duos says I’m not safe Duos insane, he’s not okay I run and he chases “GET MORE XP YOU’LL BE DEMOTED” But I’m still not free Finally I catch my breath I pull out my phone Ignoring duos screeching I don’t wanna demote So I do more lessons as quick as I can “N-nein, Danke,…das Brot ist-“ “GET IT RIGHT” Duo says, but I’m safe No questions missed

Even the dead tell stories Like Duolingo Who is currently dead Because of a cyber truck Do your Duolingo lesson right now To save Duo Only XP can save him Spanish or Vanish As he always said And he vanished… RIP Duo Keyshauna Renee Lingo 1000 BC - 2025 AD Do your lesson to save him now

I was in a state Where happiness Felt like a gamble. I could be happy now But would I be happy later? I could be smiling now But would I be crying later? You feel how you do now But will you feel the same later? You say you want to be with me But will you leave later? She became my success But eventually my downfall. She became my lesson But eventually my trauma. Now I look back To see What can I do differently? All I have is my head. It’s nice to think Even the dead can tell stories.

Even the dead tell stories, Horrors that have happened, Proof that humanity is sick, Evidence lies in their wake, Fingerprints, footprints, Gunpowder, blood splatters, Weapons, and even hairs! Evidence comes in many forms, Each telling their own Part of the story. A body found in the woods, Blood leaking From a hole in the head, Gunpowder mixed with the blood. Footprints are found roughly 10 feet away, Embedded in the mud. A gun lies next to them, Recently fired, Hot to the touch. This evidence paints a picture Of a deadly attack. The body alone says a lot, Like how the victim was being chased Until they were shot Dead, A bullet in the head. The weapon was obviously the gun, But who does the gun belong to? Fingerprints answer the question. Checking the prints left on the gun Against the prints already in our system, We find a match, Time to make the catch. In pursuit of the culprit, Hunting them down, Day in, day out, Until we find out Where they are at. Eventually, we make the arrest, Doing our best To bring the victim peace And the culprit to justice In the court of law. The dead may not speak, But they sure can tell stories.

The apocalypse is approaching quickly, And everyone is worried sickly. No one knows what to do; With the wild zombies and the green goo Every single person is packing up their things, Trying to get money by selling their rings. Leaving their houses and going to shelters; Their performances are stellar. The government is putting up walls, Trying to keep the zombies from getting in at all. The officers are patrolling every corner; Hiding their emotions, being that most of them are mourners. There are no more stores or shops, No more street signs telling you to stop. The world is coming to an end. No more letter, messages, and calls to send. But I will be perfectly fine, For that I am not alive. I am not, at all, worried; Even the dead tell stories.

Even the dead tell stories Though many swear they don’t You just have to listen closely Lend an ear to the lost souls Even the dead have lives Though it may not seem true They shed invisible tears And whisper I love yous Even the dead tell stories Lend an ear to the lost souls Even the dead tell stories And yes, they’ve told me yours

The dead tell stories In war-torn places Stories that will Linger on Through heritage And myth The dead will never be forgotten Their ash scattered into rubble Droplets of dust Into the eyes Of newborns Hope will be rebuilt Despite the wreckage Resilience is a power Stronger than a cruel man’s Iron fist They pray They keep watch Crouching Hiding Running The light of escape And freedom is near.

Round and round a circlet of fire or water Tapping into vague or clear energies Broken wax on a sinless altar Discerning the One Thing from plastic effigies Solar figments hanging from a point of darkness While the living walk in rigged fields of twisted allegories A hallowed night to search tombs for forgotten contentedness Because even the dead tell stories

Many months had gone by, yet we still remained unnoticed, How I wish to have become a beauty, Aphrodite would’ve been my name, Far too aware of my flaws, yet I ought to be plastered on a wall to be forever forcused on, The thin linear string told me otherwise, will I become part an infinity? Dried up, broken and a teared sculpture in the Hall of Fame? I was a woman…or a man….or an entity far away, Red was a colour I liked and admired, sought to change the behaviour and alter me into being brave, Long ago….Mid of August….on a Sunday afternoon….while the rain covered the horizen like a bird in a cage…I saw my fate the moment the light hit the ground…and onto me…. Nobody cared, I was a red head afterall….they saw me as a witch, Hurray was echoing the small town, they felt many glory, This is my story…it is, Even the dead tell stories.

We learn from those around us We learn from those before us We learn from our ancestors and from history Even when we’re gone our knowledge stays For others to learn from Even the dead tell stories