What do you think of this writing?

At some point, the whole body goes numb. Different hallways smell of different lives, different choices, different ways to die. Feet make exposing motions all around me, on every side there is a new wave. Beyond each strange corner is something new, chaotic, despite its obvious certainty. Each new day will bring drugs, birth, to life. In every painfully clear moment of lucidity, a new death is imminent, yet strangely welcome. The clouds, in all of their glory and control, have decided to wrap themselves around me. I have always felt susceptible to the heavens, although in what respect I can't understand. I do, however, know the glory that can sometimes project itself. I know the days in which the forests, in their golden-green haze, invite god to take refuge from the hellish hailstorm raining fire on us all. I know that, on days when god dies, even the simplest-minded devil can make himself a cackling sorcerer, ripping one to shreds in perfection.