Challenging.
Cyclical, up-down, up-down.
The pattern strikes a resonant chord.
Not a sweet melody,
discordant, at best.
Awkward. Spiralling. Lose control of the reins.
Allow the stallion of your mind the freedom to roam.
Across the plains you howl like the wind, blowing everything to pieces.
It's supposed to be a resolution. But there is no resolute finality.
No luxury here,
not even in the tenor that is death.
Follow the arrows.
It's a world of oppressive strain and perspiring, melting mountains.
Stallion?
She manipulates you into a quivering invertebrate.
The storm cackles,
the whip cracks and
the universe devours you.