I look these tainted souls walking everywhere, with the innocence in their eyes and the awareness floating on nowhere. Their hands are dirty.
Which illness push your moves?
While all the medias are talking about zombies: maybe it isn’t only fiction.
If only I could stop you, catch your consciences and bring them outside from your bodies, to show all your poor existences, what would you do at your inanimate shells?
But I’m only an human, despite all. And until I’ll can, I’ll avoid you.