of consciousness.
Is this the solemn reality
of the coordinates and wheel of fate
that man must embrace,
if not be broken into?
Fragments are softly crushing
my outer skin
of consciousness
where truth lays.
But to live,
a fish must live
in the water.
The air that concocts this debris
is part of existence.
One must learn how to live
here.
For there is none elsewhere,
but sterile translucent films
of nothingness.