soaring through the haze

Contest Link

soaring among the thresholds with vision unblurred but the chest pumping in sync with the questioning of why everyone leaves, aina left and so did every friend i knew, and every thing points to the fact that fault lies not within but to the hunk exterior. musk spreads around that of human quite vile as an amalgamation of all the surrounding and that all also rots. my point being the heart has nothing to do with this. clear cut and the haze, ain't nothing wrong with that. in between the limits of the bubble, air feels pure, and all the elements pointed out with their blobs like that is o2, but beyond that it all stinks, some of it a fault of my own.

no wonder every thing used to be stable, I was wrong to even consider leaving this drug induced life. an infusion I am. more than once a day I would be pulled into lucid dreams, much like a state where you are speaking but not quite, as if you are reading and continue to do so without even realizing. you may be in a car drifting or rather moving slowly, seeking the completeness and the true imagination. droplets showing a signage of arrival but it never will, as it never does. the scenery is fake and most assuredly in front, and that is the whole point. the gruesome of the moments could be figments but they are usually not. these drops filter for the consciousness and distort for the moment my view but not completely obscuring. the view may at one point be clear and you will think of the ways you got here, and who took the realization of this drive.

Why would I not completely give in,
if not for this unpredictability
and the loss of being?