Minds are webbed, silver threaded and fragile. Viscous fibers cloak the skull, a decrepit cavern where thoughts catch on the walls. This cumbrance- it snags each passing memory, and in an impermeable catacomb they decay. Never to escape their somber grave. If I could untangle the lacework perhaps I could remember, but I've long since given up, it's fragile and jaded.
Now is the genesis of haunting ambiguity, the ruination of truth. A lesson to all not to let life's expanse cloud your existential perception of purpose.