gel

Spongy oversized matter pressing its boundary, firing signals without direction, galloping blindly amidst thick fog, a blanket; falling to rest precisely upon an unknown destination .
The beacon sheds no light. Charred sparks waft an unidentifiable scent

similar to burning flesh.

Once happy trees, painted colors founded by children. The smiling sticks gaze knowingly exclaiming intentions of love. Bubbles pop in tiny flurries deep down. Voices pitched abstract and unique speak nominal meaningless messages in the distance.

Gather point and move. Compass ready to aid reading faded and tattered maps out from under confining imagined conflict.