I inhale shards of pixilated frost:
A soft, fat wave of pastel colors sparkle gayly for me a bit before fermenting into a chalky yeast
I become rabid
Calcified ecru stalactites spiral out from puckered pink origins
They're trying to kill me

I spit
I look down, praying, but they're there: bloody stingrays blink back at me
I don't understand
Again with the stingrays
I thought I was doing so well

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