Spiny, black decayed flesh reaches for me. This is rot.
If you can't see it, you don't tremble.
You don't understand. This chaos. This fear.
One hand reaching for me. Settling at my neck. This is death.
Don't breathe it in. Don't let it hover.
My alarms have gone off. You can't hear them, I can.
This is the beginning of the infection.
From one thought to another, never ending, never ceasing to relax.
There is no disinfectant. Fight it, but there will be no triumph.
Don't give in to the contamination.
Breathe it in, suffocate.
This is how you break.
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