Xanthe's Ramblings

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The currents spill out; the source did not hold.
I drank again – again – and the colours darkened.
Black. Red. Purple – the phantoms burned within them.
The body trembles, bones clatter.
It is madness to try.
I went into the deep; I did not turn back.
I bound the soul with chains, but it flees.
The consequences – disordered – shatter all things.
Flesh – like crust – peels away.
The voice is no longer mine. No longer.