Please don't get close to me

You reek of death and decay, and I don't want your sooty, black fingers on my flesh

Can't you hear me?

There's a stench that rises from you. Incessant. It's the stench of landfills, of massacres, and factories.

I don't want you to touch me

If you touch me, you'll infect me, and I stand no chance against the blackness that coils in your soul

Seeping, pouring out of you

So.

Should I reach out first?