Sanoja: Sea Of Treachery. Wonderland. The Comedian Is Dead.

God, the room won't stop.
If I could just open my eyes forever, I'd never have to feel this lost again.
But would I feel as whole, as in control?
Am I slowly drowning, or staying afloat with each soothing burn cascading?
Maybe Hunter was right.

Taking all this in is overwhelming. All attempts to heal are badly failing. Is there something more that I am missing? Feigning what I feel...

Am I really falling further? Is this the final straw? Fortune has its way of laughing on those with scars laid bare.

I wake up surrounded by evidence of another night gone awry,
why can't I break this cycle of relapse and revelry?
I have lost composure for what seems like the hundredth time today.
I don't know why I can't get beyond the urge to drown myself.

This current pulls me under, beneath the undertow as shattered memories wash out to see.

Floating down, I fight back the tide. I will fight the tide. And I'm as useless as an orphan's cry.

From virulent sustenance, the product of consequence.
From virulent sustenance, the product of consequence.
From virulent sustenance, the product of consequence.

My body forces retribution for the onslaught it endures, another night of purging myself of my weakness.

Pull me from the water, it's time that I finally breathe again.

I'm a fucking mess.