those little fragments of thought that slip in when you are in that place between real and unreal. those light patterns that flutter underneath your eyelids, deranged little moths with tattered wings and blind eyes. feelings that seep in slowly, that creep in quietly, that catch you unawares.
and they shroud you, and they fill you up and drown you from the inside. the air dries out your lips, the moon gives you a sickly glow, your shadow grows and grows.