the indescribable verbal bashing. the sacrifices made. the fucking sacrificial lamb. your credits are nothing, and nothing is worth your while. the lashing - it never ceases, yet you persevere because, by some stroke of idealistic madness, you somehow believe that somewhere out there, there is nirvana. you will find it, and it will be yours. the grotesque demons you meet as you tread further into the spirals of your idealistic fantasy attempt to warp your thoughts and inject venom into every last inkling of hope thats left in you. yet you persevere, nevertheless, because you stand by your beliefs in that phantasmagorical image of nirvana you've got plastered to the walls of your mind. and while you watch every last bit of your old self decompose into everything yellow and green and brown and red - the rotting corpse of what you once were - you still believe that nirvana is in your reach. and while your maggot-infested, festering body inches closer to your so-called nirvana, you feel contented to finally grasp it with your skeletal fingers despite the fact that you are now but a shadow (or even less) of what you used to be.