Circles of fear

I see no reason to lie further.

Death is inevitable at the rate I pursue this straight maze, turning continuously with the wheels of this bicycle built for two.

The Camper Who Gave forcefed me the conclusion to my life: I will reach the end of this straight line, and I will be greeted by a blind man. He will say one sentence to me, and then he will put my Piece back on the board.

The Camper Who Gave forcefed me the conclusion to my life: I will reach the end of this straight line, and I will be greeted by a man in a gas mask. He will say one sentence to me, and then he will leave me here over there forever to bask in the paradox of existing past death.

Inside the door laying at the end of the straight line, I met the blind man. He said to me, "Turn around, the cycle's big enough for a second."

Inside the door laying at the end of the straight line, I met the man in the gas mask. He said to me, "One does not exist over there, so you get freedom to cycle with every option you choose."

The wheels of time keep turning, and the fires of man continue burning. This rotation is over; there is sand in my wheels. One wheel turns, the other ends.

It's almost like a paradox.