Lash.

Dancing with devils in moonlight? No, dancing with your true self beneath an unforgiving spotlight. Glaring, harsh, blinding, all imperfections laid bare.

Cringing at another’s pain, guilt that you are the cause — or are you? Whose fault is it, really? Is there actually fault to assign?

Inevitability speaks, we fall silent, and things die. All things die.

In the muggy dark, guilt runs a marathon of circles.

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