And deeper still, the morbid mystery entwines.
What love I ever had for life should find its place in here, locked within a cankered cell.
No love of me, not mine to love, for twisted is the purity of that finer thing and I should lay my partly living down to free myself from terror's tyranny.
What further horrors shall I find within this terrible place?
Wherein a time before these catastrophic events, I would have willingly accepted pallid imitations of such horrors.
I now have come so far my sensibilities lie benumbed by all I see.
I do not embrace this horror, but rather stand immobile beneath its self-indulgent gaze.
Confusion reigns and I fear the god within the machine is no longer there.

This is the place I have not wanted to dream of, and the dream is now the place I partly live through.