Sleep Spindles And K-Complexes

Like a ghost brushing its fingertips across the spine of its worldly vessel, there is no peace in harmony. Like a flash flood as the pinhole widens, we barrel forward in a frantic display, as though time spent is distinguishable from time lost.
I've spent days in my mind, barreling across the land, staring out the window, trying to make sense of my surroundings. When did this place claim my last ounce of breath? Will we ever reach the end?
We emerge from the tunnel, but the bats still taunt us, enveloping our fears as they screech through their own. Their wings beat with a terrifying cadence against the single layer of protection we have from whatever we've created, from whatever we must now outrun, and nobody remembers quite where we're headed, but the places we've been hang between each passenger's thoughts in a unified but unexplainable exchange.
There is no faith in God that can shield me from this terror. Each new tunnel brings new paranoia and fear. Each new thought becomes distorted and blurred further by a gap in clarity. I can't even breathe.