Contagion
Little details, the least distressing ones maybe, I could utter, would, if my soul quit crumbling, gathering like icicles at the soft of my throat. Circumstantial or by design, pulsing violent, tight-noosing my heart, this empathy, this cursed mirror, quivering even for strangers with voices sharpened into daggers, the blood misted from their words poisonous aerosol, suspended indefinite. Till silence,
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