Battle lines drawn, an eerie calm, ‘It’ lingers. Breadth short, eyes moist, souls depart. Fractured reflections, decayed bodies fumigated, floor to ceiling. All that remains is smoke and mirrors. Families on a slow burn, deplete. A kill ‘It’ kills. A mortal race on knees, grudgingly kneels. In times so testing, lest we forget, bent we have, fallen we are, but break we’ll not. A plague feeding off our fears, ‘It’ spreads.