Insanity garbed as the sane.
“Do not climb,” they said.
He stopped.
And the steps disappeared.
“Mustn’t speak,” they said.
And words.
They were lost.
“Shouldn’t watch,” they said.
And darkness descended.
Panic set in.
The ground shattered.
Was he falling?
Was it an abyss?
or the totem,
of sanity
caught and caged.
Arms flailing,
his body twirled.
He hands grasped it.
Was it nothingness?
Lo and behold,
light shone through
seeped his body.
“It’s my work,” he said.
“It’s your work,” they said.
The Leviathan
is a myth.
Suma Mandalapu 