Publisher's Synopsis
"I try to maintain a floating status. I just can't help but feel like I'm sinking every time I think too much about it. Quicksand is eating upwards from my shins, feet now out of the equation, crawling with clawed grabs up my torso, past the shoulders that, now covered, drag me further under - the sand filling my throat so I can no longer dwell upon its discomfort - my last constructions being of terror until the tomb closes in and now Nothing doesn't seem so bad..."