In these days - after years of subjecting my self to the psychological onslaught of this idiocy; the concert of my own self-debasement, calming me. I feel like a shackled Icarus - chained to this place that no longer makes any sense to me. So many voices speaking as if they have the answers - as if they know what is, and will be, and was - blah blah blah. I can hear the leaves crunch beneath the frozen whisper of snow upon the ground. A distant bird. The breeze that moves the pines. That smell that hangs in the air - it smells like warmth - specifically, burning ash - not the proof that there was, what was, before it burned - but the type of wood. I can taste the cold. Prime reality - or is it all just a dream. A dream that I dream when awake, and indulge the nightmares that shaped me. The only answers that, in these days, make any sense to me. To disappear - to find peace - and to take me with me. Me.