What a disturbing feeling it is to drift in and out of consciousness. This bleak reality fragmenting, bending, and blending with those vividly lucid, horrific dreams. What a charge it is to sort oneself through such a menagerie of almost imaginary scenarios. To attempt to pool one’s focus and zero in on one reality at a time is a far greater task than to merely concentrate. Each facet of each realm of reality passes on through its own keeping of time. Once attention is fully given, the timing of the remaining realms begins to quicken; perhaps in an effort to break the intended focus or even as a result of it. It becomes obvious that attempting to focus on any aspect of these rivaling realities shall, more often than not, lead to a complete quickening of all else, thusly spawning a desire to draw back and take in the “big picture” in all of its majesty and splendor. So, I meander and wander and allow all realities to wash over me. I focus on nothing, allowing me to see everything.

Ah, there she is. I thought I’d never see her again. With face in hands, she cries crimson tears that run streaks down her arms and pool on her thighs where her elbows rest. Each vertebrate of her spine has been replaced with an appropriately sized razorblade. Hunched over, her back resembles some sort of horrific death fan, transforming her from beauty to saw blade. The razor sharp edges protrude from her skin, but the sadistic smile stretched across her scarred face seems to imply that she enjoys the pain. I’m impressed by her will to deny the obvious so convincingly that I once again question the validity of my own expressions.

Where the hell am I? I’m nowhere alone. The compulsion to pull back is more than I’m prepared to resist, so I once again breathe in deep, stinging breaths of suffocating air, release my will, and allow my world to spin uncontrollably in all directions. I’m elated by the surreal sensations that rush through my soul as I slip seamlessly from one reality to the next. It’s unclear to me just how many of these realities exist. Perhaps there is no end to this, and they are indeed limitless. I raise my eyebrows. Perhaps.

I feel a soft mist of rain begin to wail up from beneath my unclad feet. Of course it’s crimson rain, spawned from pain. It would appear that everything here feels a compulsion to bleed, not entirely unlike me. As the Earth spins on, releasing its fears through those scarlet tears, I wonder if it’s possible to reverse my own pain like this climbing rain. I shrug. Spin on world; spin on. That rising rain condenses and freezes on my lenses. The pink Frost reminds me that though the woods are indeed lovely, dark, and deep, we all have promises to keep, and no one’s ever entitled to sleep.