Dysphoric Morphology

The smothering claustrophobia of prolific anxieties, that have vexed my nerves, have become augmented with villainous hostility. My mind is an unforgiving landmine, and my heart, a quicksand! In the wandering compass of my weary eyes, I find that, the objects adopted to my thorough scrutiny have receded, into obsidian shadows; those that whisper me to unreason. My stomach ferments, as it churns, the fleshy ingredients of my lifeless counterpart's visage, unto a digestive miasm. What have I become? How do I know this detail, if the designated masculine corpse has neither head nor limbs, to narrow such indigenous profession? Is it perhaps the fallible instrument of surmise, that has construed the forbidden rudiment of the encumbered mystery, and assigned an atlas of mortifying memory. I cannot discriminate the ghostly procurements of ideation and applied simulation, admist this orgy of ludicrous prejudice. My tachyphrenia dissipates, as something of an evanescing symbiote of mayhem, when a hideous novelty arrests my prospect. It is the incomplete corpse, it stirs and writhes. I perceive, a forking protrusion of sharp elongated limbs such as those of an spider, tearing forth from the grim torso's ribs. The thing crawls, onto the roof, under my uncompromising regard as I remain rooted from the awful embrace of terror, and upon its bare chest, I find it has a visage. Dear lord, the visage is my doppelganger, gazing from above! It begins to chuckle, until at length, I disgorge profuse gallons of blood.