So full-filling, but yet not so much.
Erasure of the mind;
but a wishing for thy head to be blown away.
Gravity is immense, and the wind enters, releasing a euphoric state.
An invincible, mal-nutritioned product of chemical;
dumbfounded on hours at at time, floating around in another dimension.

The clock moves rapidly
and nothing followed.
Vampires in the night
with no intent of sleep.
Sunrise has no soul, merely a thing in the sky.
There's only one purpose;
one consistency.

Four days gone,
no siesta,
meals few and far and in between.
"Self-approved," I say!

The foolery hoards the display from my vision,
the figment of the imagination is hidden.

It has no pity
no shame,
brutually relentless.

But there's only one purpose;
only one consistency.

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