Please don't get close to me
You reek of death and decay, and I don't want your sooty, black fingers on my flesh
Can't you hear me?
There's a stench that rises from you. Incessant. It's the stench of landfills, of massacres, and factories.
I don't want you to touch me
If you touch me, you'll infect me, and I stand no chance against the blackness that coils in your soul
Seeping, pouring out of you
So.
Should I reach out first?
