Watching

It's currently 4:08am. Tonight, I greet the warm arms of solitude. Tonight, I find myself not slipping, but coldly watching the void. The core of our human meaning, the void. Tonight, I sense the cool breeze of emptiness. The more one looks into the eye of death, of the endless void, one realizes the tragedy of human existence. It's like seeing the entrails of a person come seeping out of their stomachs, the blood plopping on the ground, along with pieces of bone and flesh. It's quite horrifying, but the more you see, the more you understand. The more you understand, the more twisted one feels. It's quite simply, feeling like you've been sheltered from the coldness of winter. There's power in knowledge, but there's a price you must pay for something so intensely important. Curiosity killed the cat, as the saying goes. Along those lines, can one person quantify their experiences of the void? One would scoff at the notion that someone could possibly make sense of such a beautifully terrifying image. I say it is so, because one must try to see, with their voice, with their paint, or their writing. So create it so, beings of selfishness, create.