Last eve draped in shadows and frost,
Embraced by a haze of haunting echoes,
No solace found, only nightmares persist,
Yet, not the loss of kin,
Nor the parting of the love intertwined,
Nor the sacrifice of limb on an oily road’s cruel whim.
Upon waking, the dreams clung tenaciously,
A relentless encore of enigma,
Was it the arboreal neglect on National Tree Planting Day,
A penance for not sowing seeds of green benevolence?
I pondered, lost in the maze of surreal cognition,
What cosmic symbol does this foretell?
Restless, my limbs adhered to the icy ground,
Head turned, fixated on the wardrobe,
Blood cascading from my nostrils, forming the mysterious number 11.
A tableau of confusion painted before me,
Questions echoed in the silent chamber,
What sorcery is this?
What metamorphosis engulfs my essence?
Fear, a voracious predator, devoured reason,
I stood, paralyzed by my own shadow,
Averse to the embrace of slumber,
Terrified of the unknown, even within the realm of dreams.
What cryptic message lies within this enigmatic sequence?
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