One step down but two left to drown: fulgent shafts of light piercing eyes effectuating colorful creatures and overly lustrous images and sensations so incisive and versatile they verge on excruciation (they would transverse that precipice if the incline were perceived otherwise). They are near-illusions despite their all-encompassing reality (perhaps their prodigious reality is what projects the appearance of imperfection, perhaps we need it so) and yet beauty in its rarest form radiates from deep within its rays and casts itself against the body’s surface, as if to reassure, nourish, nurture it.
Two steps down and one left to drown: the body, adamant, alas its surface is tiring. Beautiful efforts slowly come to pale, the efforts of beauty persist (to no avail). A silent cry questions why the effort endures yet its effects gradually die. Self-awareness ineluctably breaks down not itself alone but renders its possessor worn and torn.
Three steps down nothing left but drown: the body in dissolution.