One.
The beginning
Or rather, the continuation
Regardless of time or circumstances, this will always be considered the first passing of that threshold
The very same threshold over which many already have tread, and will tread

Two
Another
Perhaps for no other reason than to ease the burden of the first
No matter, they are all the same, after all
The only difference being the shift in resonance of the scratching, coming from nowhere

Three
More than half the weight lifted
The peace, however, short-lived, almost non-existent, giving way to waves of sporadic elation, ebbing out in spasms of desperation
Inching ever closer to tranquillity

Four
Focusing on nothing but the line on the horizon, pupils turn to black holes, greedily absorbing all light in sight
Distortion no longer an oddity, but a habitual state of mind
Hues of light now serve only to categorise shades of crimson

Five
The ending
Or rather, the holdup
Until next time
Float around in empty space while it lasts, before crashing down onto the cold floor
Wash away the poison to the point where it clogs up the drains
The body, dry of emotion

One, two, three, four, five

That’s not it
Again

Two, four, five
Better
Not perfect still

One, four
Closer
Not quite

One, one, one, two, three, three, three, three, three, four, four, five
As close to perfection as possible
Wash it away

One, two, three, four, five
They itch for more