The prospect of coincidence, the power of imagination.
The dread of its meaning propagates angst, while the symbolism is mercilessly distorted through Machiavellian avenues into perturbing conviction.
And so the pendulum swings, inevitably back into the place it was supposed to avoid.
The mind could not help it, leaving common sense defeated once again.
It seems that perception fails to surpass denial, as it was denial that inhibited reason from prevailing.
Superstition wraps around the conscience and tangles its web around the delicate interactions maintained in circuitous, convoluted domains.
Apprehension of what remains unknown lingers above as if to summon dark clouds, persuasively shrouding any optimism that endured.
I have found myself trapped inside my head, personifying the delusions.
Unable to discern a means of escape, retiring into defeat, sinking into unease.
So many times convinced that my fears were realized, how do I begin to explain?