I looked down at the dirt path. The crunched citrus leaves sprinkled the black soil burning into eternity. When had I started walking? Had it been minutes or years since this exercise of confusion had begun? The amber trees gleamed like lampshades emulating the setting sun. I felt nauseous, queasy, yet this pain was comforting. I was alive. Or I thought I was living. I pressed my fore and middle fingers to my neck, futile pumping, like a fire hydrant to the flames of hell. Slowly the canopy of foliage began to engulf my path in shade. I turned around. The path behind me had faded. A mist began to enchant my vision. The soil began to give in, my feet sank, yet I walked, as we all do. It wasn't over. A spike of endorphins swam through my veins, swimming to evade the falls. My eyes rolled back in ecstasy. I was knee deep in sorrow; the skin on my knees began to tear. Tears rolled down my eyes. They were empty. They were halted at the chin. I was wading now, the speckled stain glass windows were gone; the soil was tar black. My breast was being crushed, a futile breath squeezed into a gasp. I held on, I knew it was over, but we all hold on. I was swimming. I was numb, all but my malevolence and depravity. My neck felt the tingle slowly rise up its sleek surface. What a vulnerable outlet. The sophomoric wisdom of a genius drained out of my ear canal and settled the surface to plant its seed. The soil rose, or I sank, but I still progressed. The blackness became a blindfold. What's the utility of sight when no one can see? I was emerged. Oh, the Joy of attainment.