It’s happening again.

The pressure on the cranium- expanding, pulsating, never ending.

The positive energy- imploding, diminishing, vanishing.

The words you tell yourself to perk yourself up, to convince yourself to give your head a shake- once more begin to mean little to nothing.

You’ve never been more conscious of exactly what’s going on, feeling the presence of an almost astral form of yourself screaming at the empty vessel beside it.

It’s so loud it becomes silent.

“Silence is golden” after all.

The distortion is all too real.

It’s nauseating- but we must persevere.


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