The Moth and the Candle

Bursting pain, flashing lights and strange shapes
The senses subtracted by one
Briefly live in the place only you can create
Move between the external and the internal
Only pausing to assess each
Staying in the dark is a little death
Everyman resurgent does not need three days
Access to this dark is yours and the others to grant
What restraints there are, are the ones you bring
Purpose and structure held in a template
The outcome is held in your hands.
But control is sometimes lost to the other
The terror of the familiar and the fear of the unknown
Melding together for the other to exercise the control
The dark ultimately belongs to the other
You are the architect, it is the overlord
Each piece of the little death is not really yours
To control or own, merely to participate in
Perhaps the greatest fear then,
Is to live in the darkness of the mind