it's all a big thing shaped like small things that coagulate until they form something larger, big and grotesque and lacking glue, the fault lines more obvious than the places where everything connects, it's a dream of some place you've never been, loving people who never existed, dreamt by a mind that wants things that aren't good for it anymore. everything is pretty and easy from a distance and everything suffocates you the same when you're inside it. if bacteria had will and consciousness we'd all be dead overnight. there's a maelstrom onslaught cacophony of colors and all you can see is red repeatedly repeating, roses, rolls royces racing, blood, dripping off and wishing you could find a cop just to see something bleed a different color, but all you have left is tylenol and a ruined stomach lining. maybe some more wounds could clean things up. maybe something normal could make you regular and standard. maybe you could float if you just stopped struggling.