Dissassociation

To crawl into the rabbit hole, and wither away with wonder.
Pulling me under and in, internal inquisition.
Like curling up without a blanket.
Breathing isn't the same.
What should be common sense, I now question.

I find myself sucking all the air I allow myself.
Hypothesized, ionic, blue, electrical current.
Hypnotic engagement, layers.
Down, swirling, spinning, perception, imagination, all flowing.
I try to stop the gravity of flooding awe, but the unraveling mystery alternates my senses.

It seems as though synesthesia, the trickery, has an appeal.
What was once a given, now a fascinated astonishment.
My pupils dilate.
Losing track of time, I fall.
An intense, vibrant aura clouds my judgment, like seeing naked humans in stars.

I've always known carnality.
If only my wishes were different.
Snakes coil back from the corners of my mind, ready to strike.
Blood lust is drawn for the kill.
Poison enters my veins and intoxicates me.

Control, I've finally found out.
Reasonable, rational acceptance of voided, chaotic thoughts, words, and actions.
Everyone around me knew all along.
Reading the mind of a mage is like an open book of assumption.
All delusional theory, and no solidarity, no foundation, no basis.

Left with no cure, but the itch of the bite.
Scratching away to shed.
All a gullible, convenient emotion.
Never healing, I choose to dismiss my shame and embarrassment.
It was always apparent, where and when serpents strike.

I hide in what I choose to believe with my innate brain.
Glossing glazes over my eyes, like scales on a fish, seen through a fishbowl.
What is the Lizard King anyway?
I remain tempted, as absolution shifts and changes, like finding eternal disposition in season.
Covering the harvest of autumn, drunken revelry, alluring.

Watching the bright, burning embers glow and exit up into the atmosphere is familiar.
As if immortal, I play with fire again.
It's like flaming arrows from the shadows.
My fortress, raided by an unknown enemy.
In the night, stealth.

I was dancing and drinking.
Barren and cold, I've let myself become plundered.
If only it was a dream or a trip.
The hand of God dismissed, for a secret, seductive pleasure.
It was always obvious, except to me, of whom is willingly foolish.

Signs point me in direction, as denial of hope brings doubt, in my paradoxical quest.
Acceptance, under the surface, and in recognition, metaphorical disposition, alone.
To cast the spell of a lie on oneself.
Peering into the crystal ball once again, and stirring the pot, sin is still evil.
Disassociation, death, life.