We taste your fear--
metallic, a crackle in the air.
We cower, cocooning ourselves
with a shroud of silence.
But fabric burns as easy as flesh
when the fear flashes.
Only tears can drown the fire,
we think, and weep.
Brine-soaked,
we are all the more vulnerable
to the next electric spear-thrust.
With each bolt of lightning,
we become
the thing you fear.
[Needs editing? Yes. Is the raw truth? Also yes.]
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