Paranoia

Whisperings and soft speeches, blurtings and loud blunderings. But mostly whispering.
They tickle my visible brain. Of whom do they utter and what, I ask.
Whispering, madly away?
Small, short breaths, a sudden intake of—small, short…shallow.
Why now, to stop? I force my head to turn.
No smile today, I see? Not today, says me.
Long sighs, short breaths. Whispering again.  I look down at the muted words. But even text, it does deceive.
Why so small, that I may not read? I am neon once again, glowing bright, subject of those whispering. Whispering,  madly away. 

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