Which frightens you most, the Ancient voices that come to you on the wind, cutting like slivers of ice on a cold day, or the faces and headless torsos that show themselves in dream?

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Out of Outrage

I don’t know when it was I ran out of space for outrage. I can’t remember if there was a singular sudden clap of thunder-like something or whether love just seeped in through all the cracks. I do reme