The Angel Wears a Gas Mask.

I’m going mad, I’m going mad, love. There’s something scratching beneath my skin, and I have no cure. My grandmother used to tell me that to call a monster by its name would save me, but I have no name to call this one, nothing to tame it by. This madness has no name, but its face has always looked a little too much like yours. It’s lethal, and it’ll end me. Don’t ask me how I know, I’ve seen the angel in the corner of my eye put on a gas mask. Everyone around me is weary, as if they are tired of trying to not catch a disease they have no knowledge of, except their minds can join the dots to a danger they can’t consciously be aware of. I don’t know enough words to scream this is me, the disease is me. You can’t catch what is braided into my DNA. This madness only comes once but it kills everyday. I don’t know how long a corpse can pretend to be alive for.


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