Please Stop Breathing

No, I don’t know when you’ll die, when you’ve died, or why I don’t know—I should—I owed that much to you, to know death better to give you comfort in it—to know brightly when you’re here, to dig my fingers like forever into your neck—to know easily when you’re gone, to dig my fingers into mine—

To cover you and carry you away. More

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About Austen Szott

Author of numerous novels, novellas, and pieces of short fiction, blends of romance, thriller, horror and visionary science-fiction.

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