I see the edge and then it cuts me. I see the edge and then it cuts me. I can never toe its line and come out unscathed. It is a certain madness that perpetually draws me further and further down a rabbit hole that is full of nothing. A burial ground of an empire of non-existent nomads. There is always something horrifying in the ragged redwood forest of my mindscape, and it is called myself. Or myselves, otherwise. My head is tarnished with a list of regrets and turmoil three thousand miles long and I'm not even sure which one on my selves is to blame anymore. This is what the light in the forest was searching for. Which one are you? Who am I actually dealing with down here on this ancient ground? Yet only more escape comes with these realizations. And escape is pleasure.