Anonymous anomalies

Cold-crusted hands pronouncing death to traditional points of view

She forecasted my luck,
Prophesied my tucked away warrants

Who could find these expressions when the covert was locked?

She struggled with hatred
Her bitterness was overtly hidden
Only those who knew her microexpressions were gifted to place valid differentiation

And it was all contagious;
The joyful glow and the haunting dread

"Mr. Carriage, thank you for volunteering"

She wept profusely. Then my hands became warm, but she was covered in a cold blanket

Your time is done, Mr Carriage