Fee-fi-fo-fum my Mind is a Crumb

Sometimes I feel like I don't know what I'm doing. Like everything I've done up to this point has been part of some great invisible misstep. I'm nothing more than a duplicitous doppelgänger, a cunning imposter who successfully fooled all the necessary parties; most importantly, himself. Is this what I want? Is this where I want to be? Enslaved to a giant beast. The hours of my life, mangled in the cold greased steel - insatiable - incessantly churning. 

My mind is fried. No, if it were, that would actually be a welcome sensation. A nice rich, high-calorie, oily fatty mass of delicious goodness; like funnel-cake. Instead, my mind has been devoured of anything of substance, the marrow sucked clean, and the scraps fed to a dog. What remains are crumbs. My mind is crumbs.

I suppose it's best not to dwell too much on these things. Soon I will have release. A city of blackened rocks calls to me through the darkness, promising me nothing, granting me even less, but allowing for everything. Until then, there is a wrench wedged in the gears of my mind, grinding and straining the normal function of the system, causing it to overheat and shut down. I have nothing witty beautiful humorous positive or interesting to say. I'm like a waste basket full of discarded and useless thoughts, old newspapers fed to a flame.

A chill I can't shake off. A promise, like a thin thread-bare blanket, light as a shadow, is all that covers me. Thoughts of an enormous flaming figure and images of effigies burning brightly against the dark do what they can to warm my frozen frame.