"Apoplectic, this flux of feel. Understanding it isn't mine, yet its forced upon me."

This tapestry I have spun, these trails I've blazed. Where lie my triumphs?

The quagmire, or the portrait of the end!? The quagmire! Down this hole do I descend.

This obstruction, I have constructed. Swept away by cascades of conviction. Omnipotence, prevalence, renditions of dreams that I'm dying in.

The quagmire, or the portrait of the end!? The quagmire! Down this hole do I descend.

How real it feels...
To wake alone, confiding in solace. My strength, as well as my burden. My strength, as well as my.. rumination. This trepidation overwhelming me.As I leave the dream. This far from sleep.

How deep is sleep? Have my eyes been shut? To see the sliver in its seems.

What's real to me? The lights of guidance, or the shine that swelters the flesh under decay.

How can this be? The understanding, of energy conducted within.