The Growth and Decay af a Self-Replicating Organic System

The ground beneath my feet is mist, and I am not sure how much longer it will hold me. Every new thought is a perpetual collapse in which I am reiterated into spirals. The spirals continue weaving, burgeoning, mutating into a dragon. I can feel the heat of it’s breath as it approaches the corner. I scurry… a new chamber must be constructed, but I can only produce these chambers half as fast as I used to. The dragon toys with me… heat-death is imminent.