So bleak a prospect, so weak the light that manages to shine through. Through all the darkness that fills my head, the ink, the fog, the poison… a dimmed yellow speck is within sight but out of reach. That there might be something, so rare yet so yearned for that can unravel the spider’s webs that are spun in my mind, making navigation through my thoughts so dangerous an endeavor… A ship not without a captain but with a blinded one, singing of his misery and finding no way back although even where he came from now seems far from a desirable destination to him. When the ink does drip then from the sticky mast, caught in the web, and the ship is held back from arriving at that ever-fading light, what remains to be felt? Hope so treacherous it makes misery seem like bliss for that at least is constant. Misery can be relied upon when all else fails.
A war ship came. The web pierced. The fog dispersed. A world in shambles.
Alas, the cannonball could not be stopped.