The Dark

Into the depths I am slinking.

The fantastical questions that have immured my mind leave me shaken. The escape I attempt is nothing more than succinct.

There is no place to go.

I cling tight to my descent, my intellect comforted only by the safety of the puppet which it now strings along. What I had seen--what had awaited my mind--carries on as a balloon, higher and higher above, its nylon shackle blissfully limitable. There is a sense of salvation, the deeper I flee: a perverse comfort in that previous unknown, its ancestor ever a friend; even as traitorous forfeit--like an anchor--remains.

But as sure as review may confess the distance which any blind journey exaggerated, I felt sure I would find my origin here far before long.

Moving with delicate pace I navigated passages and corners alike, limbs primed to bear whatever obstructions readied a connection. The minutes faded into shadow, as if victims of wrong turns in following. Vistas beyond the framework of my perception ebbed and flowed as trials met folly and coercion, steeling my mind even farther to the weights of my predicament.

When at last I met the seeming end of advancement--a final space which, try as I might, I could not feel a new way out of--terror, unhinged and unassailable, blossomed, and the cry that erupted out of the very capacity of my lungs deafened my sensibilities in one caustic swoop.

Madness: that unshakeable companion.

The conference that arose in that stretch of fury was indescribable. The bliss of a buoy upon a tumultuous sea became my longing, my wish, its unshakeable fortitude my guiding sail. Would nevermore I recount such an unfathomable symphony of sensation and solidity, if I could help it. Would it were so, the Gods be beseeched.

And so commenced my disheveled crawl; my mind-barren retreat; my slavish lust of any and all vectored; my--

('Twere the workings of my consciousness in that stint of uproarious horrors time ever so humble.)