I think of it whenever my mind happens to go blank for a moment.

It was strange.
For a second he could swear he smelled the Sound, like he was at a marina.
"That's strange," he thought.
And it felt like he was breathing cold air into his lungs. Cold, salty air.
But he couldn't hear the ocean. Or see it, really. Just gray.
"Wait a minute," he thought. "We're not near the ocean anyway, are we?"
When did he last see the ocean? "Was it when I landed? In Olympia?"
He wanted to look around. He tried to lift his head but couldn't.
He tried to smell the sea again. All he got this time was wet concrete.
Wet concrete and glue. "That's strange," he thought. "Maybe it's the drugs."
Come to think of it, where was he? "Where am I?"
This was troubling. He should be panicking. But he wasn't.
In fact, he felt rather detached. "Maybe it's the drugs," he thought.
He tried to move his hands but couldn't.
He tried to move his legs but couldn't.
"Where am I?" he thought. "And who is the man who is keeping me here?"

I have a very specific paranoia.

He was splintered and winnowed and taken apart
to get down to the quick of his core.
Still he looks for the failures and flaws in the heart
of the one left for dead on the floor.
He is missing a light to shine through the cracks.
His sight has been warped and he's blind to the black.
There's no rest, no solace, no closeness here.
He would boil his blood to be rid of the fear.
Too fragile, and yet too staid.
Too rattled, and yet too brave.

I don't feel safe.

tried to find myself some light but all i got was a new moon.
tried to get back on my feet but kept returning to the wound.
tried to find myself some happiness but couldn't find enough.
tried to get rid of the sickness but it's tough, man. it's tough.