Breathe.
Tormented by scenes that I am unable to see.
Relieve.
Sink beneath the rippling surface of doubt.
Breathe.
The shimmering liquid, vile, choking. I start to drown.
Breathe.
Further down, abyss; a place I have longed to miss, but truly despise, a feeling revised; a torture surmised.
Breathe.
Vision fade, a spinning lathe, dulling the sharpness of my senses.
Breathe.
Knives stab me inside throughout. Shaping, spinning blades, they cut deep. My heart aches.
Cut it off.
Relieve the unnecessary. Return to the material components.
Pure.
Expel all symptoms of doubt. Devour the seeds of thought.
Broken.
Reduce to nothing. Reuse the everything. Conform to self.
Fixed.
Cobbled together; a ‘perfect self’. An amalgam of aspects stitched together. Self removed; vision proved. To live, to die, by the weighing whims.