I have the vision of the great big void but this nightmare wears no grinning death mask, it is a condition in which you can foresee the end of all the things, and this void is neither emptiness nor silence.
Instead, the definitely exposed evil, hold in scorn, a sinister threat, transforms all delights to ridicule and dries up your struggles.
I wanted to stamp sense in the senseless. I wanted to be recognised in solitude.
And who conjured steady the outermost consequence of yes and no? And it all came true. Futility and the breakdown of all faith. And the worst. The dead in their shrouds called me and scorned my life. Still unborn genders demand to be saved from the farce of a mortal life.
