Infinite Abyss

Sometimes I find myself floating on the edge of hysteria. Most of the time, i find that i want to be sucked in; to succumb to its darkness and give in to its forceful pull. But i don’t because the intruding inertia of self loathing is confusing, drowning, yet, strangely comforting - like a surprise visit from an old friend.

Full fledged conversations

This is the third time in my life where I've had a reoccurring dream. It bothers me slightly because I can't seem to remember the finer details, only the hazy outline of it and whatever triggers that lets me know this is reoccurring and I know this and it's thesamethingoverandoveragain. !

I am walking around an art museum, somewhat similar to the Getty in Los Angeles with a few friends, having a full on (possibly rambunctious) dialogue while conversing. The crazy part is that what I was saying in the dream is something I'd never say in real life. Not that I wouldn't say it, per se, but rather it is something I wouldn't have said in a commonplace setting. I'm trying to think of what I was saying but my mind can vaguely remember the words now. Language was less practical, more formal - exaggerated even -  and little more melodramatic than I'm used to.  The dialogue and the tone was engaging, in my mind at least, and, in some turn of event in my dream state, poetical and slightly clipped.

When I dream I am usually the spectator -- watching in earnest conviction of anything that might surface; voyaging into the deepest part of my mind and looking at it from the outside, as someone else, someone meddling disguised emotions. 

And how, while being awaken in such haste, am I supposed to figure this out? Is there an out worldly explanation to this debacle? An answer of sorts? Maybe this is meant to be an ambiguity, a sense of acknowledgement but never really an understanding.