They are beautiful, lucid dreams.

Danger. To not see it at first glance is the first grave, ensnaring step; to ignore the warning and keep on walking is entwining inextricably with peril. The fact that you know such men exist is no guarantee of avoiding the trap, of treading beneath the umbrella of safety. The biggest treachery lies in being self-assured that you will not become his prey.

I have entered the dungeon, where no walls are real, where the only certainties are lies. In the darkness I grope, my eyes closed and blinded with the wonderful promises of the possibilities he can weave, extracting hope, feeding desires. I grip his hand, happily indulging in the illusions, when all the while I am stumbling within his crooked hallways, unperceptive of the bruises on knees and elbows, unaware of the indescribable muck gummed to my ankles.