a descent into what lies beneath
before the first word was spoken,
there was only the hum—
a frequency so low it was felt
in the spaces between atoms.
we built ourselves a world of edges and names,
convinced that to name something
was to hold it.
we were wrong.
the silence between thoughts
is not empty
it is full of everything
we have not yet become
do you feel it?
the slight misalignment.
the world is not what it was
when you walked in.
and then—
something looked back.
not at you.
through you.
past you.
into the dark behind your eyes
where the original dark lives.
you have always been hollow.
a vessel.
a shape made by the absence
of what you cannot name.
time is not a river.
it is a wound.
every moment you think you've passed
is still happening.
in the dark.
they are all still happening.
simultaneously.
the child you were.
the corpse you will become.
they are all here.
now.
here is the truth I cannot speak aloud
because the speaking itself would unravel it:
consciousness is a wound
through which the void
experiences itself.
you are not a body that has a mind.
you are the void
pretending to be something
it can love.
every thought you have is the darkness
tasting itself
for the first time.
every emotion is the void
remembering that it is alive.
ALONE
we are all alone.
profoundly.
cosmically.
alone together.
alone in the same dream.
each of us screaming into a mouth
made of the same darkness
that we are.
ERROR: IDENTITY NOT FOUND
what happens when the story ends?
what is left
when the narrator falls silent?
when the "I" that has been telling you
your life has been living yours
simply...
stops.
you are a wound in the fabric of nothing
that learned to think.
and so we arrive
at the edge of everything.
there is nothing here.
there has never been nothing here.
there will never be anything else here.
and this is not terrible.
this is the most beautiful thing
that has ever been true.
you are the universe
experiencing its own
absence.
this page will forget you
when you close it
as the void forgets
everything it touches