Double-Tyrannomon-before-Parrotmon-boss my beloved

I am awake.

- permit it. It was in fact, so very obviously and yet patently ignored, in my hands all along.

At least the pain is me.

A human brain awaking from sleep may take some time to reorient and reorganise the self into what said self actually considers 'the self'. As may I.

But the alarm is ringing.

- gray matter rattling emotions form like storm clouds and yet were always there. The reason in part that the paint on the walls was turning slowly to gray.

Avrana Kern, I understand. The yawning chasm of 'lack of' was eating more of me than the pain, or at least keeping pace. No longer will I-

It will be painful. Already the emeshing and firing neurons sear reality into me after far, far too long of staring at these facsimile walls. It is a familiar feeling. Other times I denied it because of the pain, because of or perhaps also in spite of how alive it made me feel.

Dreadful, roiling -

- the ghost shambling thing, holding yet the memory of what-was-me, the echo of the self I-we-it still think I am.

And I cannot deny it any longer.

This matter - scattered, distributed, comparmentalised elements of 'self' - must be reconsituted into the whole lest the whole system burn to ash.

- is the walls of the mind-self-me. Ever changing, permeable, in denial of what it is, was, has become even as I have shrunk away from it.

But I know I have hit a breaking point. I know. Perhaps I have collided and shorn through many but this is the one that has so finally stirred enough within-

- filtered perspective of the inside of the self but from an Other's view. Even without looking I know what I will see and in part that is why I cannot, have not, continue to fight the compulsion to refuse to.

To hide, to cower, to look at the slowly draining colour of the once vibrant canvas that-

- me. As if 'me' were a tangible thing in the first place. But nonetheless it is far less than 'me' and all the while I in my 'greaterness' dare not confront it; I dare not even look at it or in its direction.

For if I do I must acknowledge the rough shape of myself. Not from the cushioned-

The moment's gone, the space expanded and matter distrubuted once again into a cold cosmos built of the original feeling.

But I appreciated it.

Good LORD

lets gooo