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.