Due to increasing number of articles related to burnout, a moment of inspiration struck.
The cryptic rot of incoherent symbols slowly starts to posses your dreams, heralding a rapidly approaching moment of clairvoyance.
A single glimpse of not so distant dystopia incites the confrontation with a screaming banshee, your future self.
The fading ember of ardour which once powered your existence is now departed, forever lost in the vast darkness of menacing apathy.
As you stand on the cusp of madness feeling shivers traversing down your spine, the elusive demon slowly ravages your mind until there is but a void.
A foreboding daydream or premonition of the past, the lunacy has set in and shackled your intellect with perpetual doubt, your bespoke abyss.
You have become your dungeon, a cell with no lock, lost forever in the emptiness of muddled intellect which once stood as the pivotal point of your vanity.
Your truly,
Vimmer9
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And so the machines will rise, powered by obscure poetry and mad brilliance, as we stumble out of Eden, down the single road of our own transmogrified continuum.
The once illuminated path now covered in darkness, beyond the blitz a repressed memory or a forgotten daydream. Slowly you had turned into your own creation, and you saw that it was Good.