... and the feeling is just as intense as when it began;
but in a different way.
The pain is a sharp blow to the throat, with a cast iron skillet.
You want to believe you were not creating fiction this time.
It was not just another manic episode...
you look around inside the twisted world you call your head, but you see nothing that isn't all made up.
Flesh is real.
Flesh is the only thing I know.
It's the only thing I can touch...
everything else is just an illusion.
and then,... it begins again.