Armed

When the invader which is in every crevice, running along every vein, pushing forward forcefully even to the tips of the toes and fingers, weighing down the musculature, dragging every ounce of flesh, sluggishly reforming the brain, decides to retreat for an unannounced breather, confusion ensues. Verve quickly fills up the newly relieved carcass, a sudden urge to do things unachieved for so long, yet experience bellows it’s the wrong thing to do. Left in a quandary, lassitude is still necessary but so unwelcome now, no more able to stomach staring at the void that is some producers far too often twisted mind, but stare still it must. There was no choice given before so it was easier to endure, knowing it had been taken over and to fight back was impossible. Suddenly a world is opened, laid before its starved and willing vessel, being teased cruelly with proffered titbits of remembered delicacies.  The battle continues a fresh but against a new attacker, this one is light almost invisible, its strength lies in giving all the fight back to the attacked. The veterans have a better chance of winning this one, been tricked too many times before, it's a sleight of hand by the wily enemy, knowing that the engulfing tedium must be obeyed, the only way to win a little more reprieve. If the victim gives in too quickly to the first signs of apparent retreat the reposing army will engulf it once again, and it will dare to wish for eternal ennui.