Making Space: Emptying the Upper Shelves

Tormented in thoughts and alone in deep abysmal Waters, reality in the sense of sight and sound drowned out by darkness, fueled by anguish and detachment, imprisoned within a soulless shell consumed by imperceptive authenticity. The window to the soul is nothing more than a window to look out of into a sea of desolation. A grand hand built habitation with a beacon of Hope that once shown across the waters. The beacon is burned out drowned out with uncertainty. Rooms once full of life and wonder with a euphoric essence completely dissipated. Now what's to remain is cold dark Chambers clawing through the dark no doors or windows or guiding light only taunting voices. Dissolution seems so appealing, nothing even matters acknowledging subconsciously that it can't be forever broken like shattered clay it once was built from from matters of the earth potential for a different life, intensive reconstruction. The fight only intensifies without really knowing if the screams and cries and clawing of the barricade is heard everything that has been put on a shelf is quickly collapsing there's no way out and the pressure is debilitating. TBH