There was a wild thing growing inside his mind. The doctor polished his cyber scapel. For a moment, my vanity slipped away. I could only think of earthquakes, birds, and snakes, and aeroplanes crashing into towers.
God stood in the doorway, head bowed, as if whispering a prayer to himself. The needle fell upon the Sound of Silence, and when he raised his face, his eyes were black. Or maybe that is just the color of sadness. God, is that really you? It is hard to tell, with all the billionaires cosplaying at Divinity.
The young foolishly believe they know misery. Wait until everything around you dies. Time does a piss poor job of healing wounds, but is rather proficient at tearing open new ones. We stack scars upon scars until there is nothing left for us except to become dirt.
God, I have grown so weary of suffering. This hole keeps widening. The prophets are all nihilists.
When will you strike me with lightning?
Poetry for the void 