Masses of words lie jangled. Tied in with your paranoia. Thickly woven into the fibrous substance of your thoughts. Your mind reeks. The sweet putrid scents of
opulent ideas overcome it‘s every corner. Fear is for the living. Gelid showers trill down your crooked spine. In raising yourself it makes a sound like a brittle ancient book being reopened one last time, then cast away. You‘re
in pursuit. Your ugly eyes trained on their prey. A yellow glint in a
thick forest. Amber on a vicious green.
The cold smoke of your breath caught in your throat is only an
afterthought.
You still pounce.
