When the World Turns

But then the world turns on its head, and I fly amid celestial bodies still full of wonder after all the ache. Soft hymns waft about my dying vessel as memories fade into the nth dimension. Dreams of jade and turquoise project themselves onto the great black canvas of my soul; one more time for old time's sake.

But then the world turns on its head, and I soar along alien terrain comprised of geological impossibilities. Landscapes shift and turn in animated fashion with no discernible pattern or sense or cause. Emotions flicker in the galactic winds as sentient beings point and judge. I get a familiar tingle in my chest; a warning for what is to come.

But then the world turns on its head, and I spiral along alternate planes of reality. Saturated and over exposed images rush all around as my pulse elevates into a monotonous hum. I try to grasp, to find some sort of footing, but the speed by which it all occurs overwhelms my motor abilities.

But then the world turns on its head, and I fall as the chaos of it all seeps into my pores. Gentle colours disperse like panicked rats, as manic hues dig their roots into my fevered brain. My stomach jumps into my throat, and my eyes sting, but the tears deem me unfit for emotional release.

But then the world turns on its head, and I dive into my own little universe where hurt evaporates into imaginary wisps. Where nothing feels like anything, and everything feels like nothing at all. Where kindness and care and beauty and respect do not exist, but neither does pain and suffering and the colossal sadness of being.

But then the world turns on its head, and I sink deeper and deeper until I am engulfed by lukewarm matter. Dark, rank, and hushed, the world disappears like last night's dreams. Those glowing eyes, and sharp claws, and vivid memories are all that remain. And in this solitude I am left with the monsters which linger within.