I've been wandering in an inward labyrinth of faulty metaphors. i had stumbled on a concept too intricate for value, too complex for word, too true for life. Gradually, everyday life becomes invisibile and as I cling to my rebellious discontentment, I start to repress basic principles and lose the ability to reflect on life's practical and cognitive matters substantially increasing the level of pessimism. Involuntarily, i turn incoherent and lose most of my incentive to resolve, advance, excite, to comtemplate lives and even the one that i lost today. I forget my will to live and the identity that i possess that molds the foundations of being. Moreover, reason and purpose escapes the tender womb of my comfort soul forbidding me to grasp onto progression. So in conscienceness i perish consequently denoting me as mere intrinsic organs and pallid breaths.