Pulp

Our hero finds himself out of breath tracing the curvaceous four oh five. What few colors are left run together. I'm sort of glad I still have my safety net, but the fact that I set it up pretty much means I'm guilty as fuck. This is not where I want to be. Grasping at mossy rock walls guiding through viscous darkness. I'm aware of what I'm holding on to and there are brief moments of visibility, very brief. At some point, I will trip. It's going to hurt. Though it won't hurt me. Well maybe it will. God damn I have nothing to do and this is all I can muster, sometimes I miss my muse.