Dissolution of self.
Sitting alone. The world tumbles and twirls in bewilderment to the abstract. Thoughts form, give feeling, and in an instant dissipate as though they were sand blowing through the desert. Fear grips him; a cage with no bars that confines reality. Though there is nothing there, the emptiness is full of life. Gods and beings slip between the curtains of reality, flashing glimpses of their existence as they pass. A wake, like ripples on water distorts any semblance of the perceivable world. Land stretches beyond sight, and yet the world has never felt so claustrophobic. He is a goldfish in the ocean; a foreign environment that feels familiar, filled with more horrors and danger than can ever possibly be known or understood. It pulls him, calls to him. Like a lullaby, it sings, tantalizing. He cannot control his own body. It does not belong to him anymore. It belongs to them now. The ones who sit. The ones who wait. He opened himself up to the world in search - a hope for a touch of enlightenment. Instead, he was swallowed by those who lurk in the abyssal void between the seams. His senses consumed, manipulated, distorted. His mind drifts through the seas, environments form like ink in the water, flowing into structure, and just as soon crumble into black pluming clouds. Who he was is no more, never will be, and perhaps never was. His history has been stripped. He knows nothing beyond the constant point that is now. Pulled around in his own head as though caught in a riptide. He wishes in his head for it stop – to end. A longing desire to return to something he does not know actually exists anymore. He stands before his reflection; unrecognizable. Vines crawl up his body, ensnaring and paralyzing any further movement. He watches as the tendrils wrap and grip the body that was once his. He watches as they burrow into his skin, swimming and lifting the epidermis from the inside. It hits him. He does not want this, he wants to escape, but the vines grip tighter, and burrow deeper. He wishes he could scream. It takes all the mental willpower his brain can handle as it teetertotters on a cliff above a pit of madness. His mouth opens. He screams, but no noise can be heard. Where there should be soundwaves is instead replaced by roots emerging from the dark pit in his mouth. His eyes flash wide as they are pushed out of their sockets, quickly replaced with blooming flowers. The nature that is growing under his skin begins to breakthrough, tearing sinew and muscle from his bones. In the reflection stands a skeleton entwined in a display of vibrant bouquets. Algae spans the legs. Vines and roots keep what is left of the body upright. Fungi grows out from within his cranium, peaking through the cracks. He is finally apart of the world. He is finally still. He wakes in the forest, lost and disoriented. Forced to return to a reality that is comprehensible, but now entirely alien. A world that will never feel truly real again, and is constantly caving in.