The dark absorbs all sense of self.
A draining whole, negating space.
I stand and stare, alone and small,
A mind as lost as light itself.
There is no movement, nothing drifts,
The echoes of the first and last.
As flux eternal overwhelms,
The grip on truth disintegrates.
On truth: on what was built as such.
These fragments dazzled by our words,
These hopes and histories which choke.
That truth, that fraud, collapses in.
And I am left: a tiny thing,
A light in light, a flame in flames.