Organic delusion; a product of non-fiction and fantasy.
There is a very real element to this cruel, wanton abate.
Each minute of each hour of each day my temper wanes.
"Fire, quench, fire and quench again. Steel on steel."
Too soft and and it mushrooms, too hard and it's brittle.
As I spew text to terminal, I linger in the flames.
The dragon revels, for his throat burns with envy.
Might I only scorch and seer?
Irreverrence, not insight; a doubtful complex.
Not unlike a lotus-eater in Vulcan's hollow.
So, The aberration in the monitor haunts.
May wisdom of ages guide my disquiet soul, from a solemn slumber of crtdaydreams.