It is not always disheveled
Not always deranged
Sometimes it’s precision
An elegance on flame

When one emerges into reality
Living engulfed in a familiar role
One has plummeted eye to eye with the furthest
Condensing harmoniously
Engrossed in the aspect

Occultic eyes rest gently before an induced commonality
And one would never think
Enslaving is comfort
Or that mania is a sadistically beautiful delusion

A hole ordained for soul keeping
Appears blatantly disastrous
Yet continually lures
Granting craved figments only I can devour