Cataclysm.
The moments where the world stops turning and you find yourself yet again, perhaps, if your life has been as disastrous as mine, picking up another new lens to view it.
You have to view it. Watch it. Take it in. Absorb it. Feel the burning agony of devastation running the tracks of your veins. An oppressive, uninterrupted sanguinous flow of lava. Coursing a path of destruction and painting cicatric murals in its wake.
And in the tremors of the aftershock you start to rouse. Dazed. Disordered. Disorientated. Yet painfully alive.
Am I murderous or suicidal? The lens is not always crystal clear.
Time for consciousness to arouse and assemble my senses. Arrange, rearrange, rethink, restructure.
Can I resurrect from the ashes once more?
Or is this simply the beginning of the end?
Soul Shattered Phoenix 
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