poke raze i aim not to petrify, but to protrude. to be bone fighting through your cloak of skin. to be that close. you aim for the place that bleeds black gold when struck. a canister confined to the chest. your crossbow jams. the claw won't catch the string. and if it could, if it did, the hydrophobic liquid that lines my veins would have nothing to teach you that you don't already know. 220902 what's it to you? who go blather from