It was like a damnable dream one was unable to relinquish, a fiery fury of imagery layered over my days like a funereal shroud. Inescapable in it's beauty routine became untenable, the chaos of the plan swamped my every impulse, every breath an exhalation of expectation, every step a move of delicious intent. A scheme flourishing like a fleshy fungus in the shadowy realms of my fantasies, sprouting in an unseen world yet bursting with brutal vitality.
The reality of the deal more comforting now, like the lights of home after a long journey, to be without it's machinations is to be without hope, to be a sunrise with no one to witness it.
The act itself will be a performance to applaud, a most glorious final act to an epic penned in heartache and treachery which the scholars will be bewildered about until the end of the age of Aquarius, until their lives become entwined in the unravelled coils of their learning, they will find themselves wanting at the doors of judgement, failures before the eyes of their god knowledge, cast down into the bowers of unpredictability. Cowering in the blackness of exquisite nothingness and left with failing memories of what once was.
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