Apnea Consequences

Segregated solitude misfires synaptic connections, and I meander around spectre conversations in autistim-like nightmares, wondering if I can learn your language. Memories are like ice, reducing every day until only a puddle remains, a mote of déjà vu, but no substance, just damp resonance of a decaying thought. I fight amnesia without knowing the battle plans, straining to hold that piece of land; that piece of me. Night’s siren calls, lulling me to beguiling sleep, where dreams are only darkness and tomorrow erases today.