I can smell the decay of an argument from a mile away, but somehow I cant notice my rotting thinking process until it stinks my whole mind. But then its too late.
I find myself sick to the core, without an original idea to keep me up at night. Always analyzing, always searching, but OTHER people's ideas and actions, OTHER'S meanings. Too scared to trace back my roots. Terrified of what I would find once I find out where I have been taking my nutrition from. Alarmed by the idea that my facade that unconsciously, will crumble away, like a sand dollar in the hand of a child.
But after being hurled into the present day pit of Tartarus, with my whole illusions shattered, my mind stripped from all delusions is finally free to work on my own puzzle. My flesh is violently ripped of my body, but these bones of mine still have a sound in them.