Razorwires clunch my chest and stonespikes rip my limbs at every movement skywards.
Screams numb each time a little less, as my senses get into salty-bitter dissolutions. The treasure each step hellwards. Calling endlessly for a heavenly light to be shed upon it.
It rips my soul and maims my emotions, it takes appart each and every thought of mine, and there are no warranty, nor legitimation to reasons and logic constructs for trying to get out.
The madness of desire has ripped appart my heart's vision, and so takes me to continue it's endless "wish".
The deep sunken treasure, calling out for the sky. It takes to rottening a lonely person whose hands would open that door at the ceiling.
It wants a graceful ray of light, and I am the only person who can give it to my most precious reason, now deep drowned and pressed down by the rubbles of countless frustrations and broken hopes, unrealistic mindings and scattered dream-like, once beautiful, paintings of mine.
I still barely have one of my arms, as the door was almost at happy ending's reach.
Blurring my mind's sight to oblivion, I sink down to the constrictive high-pressurized black abyss.
I gather my lost limbs on my way down, and stitch them back with all the seemingly unusable, yet never useless, endless rubble.
I move the water-like atmosphere to gather all the unbareble pressure I can, using it as a provisory floor until I have provoked the sunken treasure enough to quickly end me up.
A surge of hatred maims existance, aiming at the space which my body occupies as I move my temporary floor to a last attempt geyser. After all, I think I haven't tried this yet.
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