I was an aching teardrop, weighed against the drowning, indeterminable darkness.
A singular atom, perched on the eve of splitting. Steeped in an uncaring world I no longer cared for. My heart pumping a pitted core, beset by worms, plunging themselves ecstatically in ouroboros death throes. The last maggots, birthed into a bloated corpse already consumed. An ecosystem of self-destruction.
A paradox of decay and pyrrhic victories. Endless wars of attrition. Memory leaks. Artificial intelligence spewing from my mouth, like so many empty words to fill the deafening silence. Defiled, dissociated, diseased. The universal language of the isolated and detached. Solitary confinement, self-containment, self-policing. Concrete walls reinforced with trauma, like cast iron bars slick with the black syrup of complacency. Rattling the cage, unable to get a grip. Holding on is as hard as letting go.
Exchanging the storms of sorrow for waves of apathy, overcast and endless. Willfully lost in a maze of abstraction; the chaos dimension where barbs protrude a thousand ancient unsung hurts.
Projected carelessly onto the present in a mad dash from inner turmoil. Drifting from my own fidelity…until the inner distance grows so far, darkens so deep, that no matter what direction I take, all steps lead toward spiraling descent. The only question now is, what’s waiting at the bottom? Is suffering the cost of abandoning the core, or the privilege of returning to it? Only the truth will suffice. And that portends waking from an endless nightmare.