In the circle of a circle of a circle.
The layers of each foundation blended.
One breathing particle in too much pain.
All suggested solutions failed.
There’s an upset in every encounter.
A trembling hand, almost a nervous breakdown.
Escaping, hiding, shutting in a quiet, secret room.
Who can see the best version?
Prompted to continue, to walk without harm.
Signing off from the chronic distemper.
Relief has never been this way before.
The recovery room is now too narrow.
Inside the haven, something proves to heal.
Out of the mess, out of the war intended to end.
Thousand demons have found the exit door.
To find oneself in truth is an intervention.