Pure: a relative conception
clashing against infection.
Spreads, how it spreads--
like standing on ice, fissures
crackling until the drop.
Frozen cold: a renewal.
Agonizing paralysis from
your words, pounding the
sheet from below, lungs
desperate once more.
We feud until the dying
end, a thrashing sudden
heat from within.
Do you win?
Only reminded: some are
pure.