He’s looking at me with those eyes again…
Somehow the broken arrow has made me turn into a zombie.
I can’t reverse the spell.
But this psychological death has become a nature unto itself.
It can’t be expressed in charts or graph-form, numbers and letters, fractions and pies.
It’s a small price to pay for golden bullets.
Such rarities like asking would you rather live cancer free or starve… not to death?
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