Taking refuge behind the
solemn words, you speak loudly.

It rattles you, when you―
hear, it was the world's end.

I have not yet spoken to you
about the happenings, which never happened.

You want to slingshot the
malignancy without your remedy.

Illegible was the writing
on the parchment. I must dig up the ruins.

Matter of instinct, when you start
washing your hands and spitting unendingly.