Everything Under the Sun

Interrupting my slumber is a postmortem I should have predicted. Perhaps my lack of intuition was always my greatest predicament. Chaos begs the question, self-fulfilling prophecy or inevitable perdition?  Were the feelings non-existent or did I delude into equilibrium? I therapize with my conscience, what was the source of my agony?  Was it latent, emergent, or the result of a self-imposed tyranny? Are we ever conscious as to the internal state of our being? Or is the truth only discoverable from the experience of living?  In a moment of weakness, I become captive to my senses. Like Stockholm Syndrome, a dark thirst this feeling quenches. In my deepest recesses, I'm suffocated by an ephemeral menace. Nothing more antithetic to deprecating a once exalted presence. From this fortuity I shall emerge with the clarity that I seek. And I'll awake once again from a long night with no sleep. Determined to succeed, finding the confidence I need.  With an obsequious mind and ...