What brings me to the forest

I've taken a liking to bringing my picnic box, eating a candle lit meal, and watching the beautiful specimen I call "it" every afternoon.

Crawling, fidgeting, and scurrying around in the dirt. It's groping around on the forest floor, bleeding on the shrubbery, lifeless weight dragging over nursing trees and pineneeedles, its own pressure forcing snails and insects into already maggoty wounds. With a mouth full of mud, yellow eyes extruding puss, rotting flesh that gets torn apart over the sharp protrusions on the ground,it carries around a tattered blanket that barely covers its corpsey spine and decroding skull. Occasionally his ribs get caught on some roots, but he's been going in the same monotonous circle for years now.