SolipSism

 Perception.
 A sense of other,
 The binding of self;
 Making the box 
 Of self-entrapment;
 Casting out the void
 And becoming the cat
 That knows neither death nor life.

 Deception.
 Weaving the flesh
 To bring forth the word;
 Peopling
 The infinite nutshell.
 The false dichotomy,
 The lie of other,
 Haunts me in dead of night;
 Promises of truth.

 Prognosis.
 What a slender strand,
 Dangling helpless,
 Cut by stray sweep
 Of Atropos' hand.
 Perchance cyanidic dream?
 Or mayhaps another's finger
 guilty wrapping trigger.
 Tis all the same,
 The horrid forest awaits
 Seven levels down.

 Apotheosis.
 Ghosts my vision haunt,
 Deceit of my design.
 A pageant,
 structured faithlessly,
 Phantasms of the mind.
 Alone in troth,
 Will psyche endure
 As i cast off the self-made shroud
 And master the void?