Replaying, repeating, cycling through my head the same scene from different angles, over and over again while the second hand takes an infinity to run its race. What now?
The dream scape is cluttered with vague recollections of things said, unsaid and better forgotten. Analysed and inspected, every piece discarded to the garbage dump of the soul. Merging, fusing, recalibrating and fermenting into something unfamiliar, something frightening. A daemon of the mind raging through the fragile logical framework erected there by man.
Madness never knocks.
The uninvited guest who eats your food, consumes your drugs and drinks your booze. The lodger, too terrifying to chase out. His arguments and eyes too intimidating to challenge. He is chaos. Worship him, for he will release you from your bonds. Worship him and be spoiled.
Hope cried herself to sleep. She was near the snapping point. The hooks in her flesh tearing her in a dozen different directions. Her emotions leaking out through the holes in her skin. Tears and tears mingling into a ghastly roadmap of the cosmos. Purity is nowhere to be found. She ran at the first sign of trouble.
What now? Now we wait. Is there anything better to do? Sometimes we must believe the lies, swallow the discomfort and accept the deception. Good things come to those who wait, they say. Well it must be true, sometimes.
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