Narrative Born From Subconscious Chaos: Manifestation

There is a moment in the night, in the shower, in the quiet, that exist in its own temporal bubble and you are within it, stuck like flies to tape, as if at any moment you will launch away in sporadic patterns of flight. Instead, you scramble inwardly, madly, in psychic violence. In spirals derailing consciousness In which your words must be waking dreams that decide their own narrative and resonate with some primal inner force. Use the schism of lucidity as an automaton would Made only to be the rechargeable champion of fragmentation. When the fretful pull to uncover reason Instead brings only idyllic, isomorphic shock, Flowery discord that uncomfortably enraptures and obfuscates Can inspire a noble venture into creation