My mind wanders and I cannot feel the slip-stream of time. It must still move around me, but I cannot sense it.

They are lost, stumbling through the hungry dark, they do not sense that they have drawn the attention of things it would be better to be overlooked and unnoticed by. They strive and they struggle to maintain their precious and fragile sanity against the odds. "Too bad, too bad." mournfully calls the white owl from the tree. "Too late, too late!" cries the raven with its beak all bloody.

Drip, drip, drip echoes in this endless, marble maze that watches us with dead, colorless eyes that no longer recall the warmth of the sunlit world.

mental state: restless