staring at the world through the filtered lens of the abyss, an ever spinning counter clockwise void of nothing with a shimmering black center

unaware the ground beneath is slowly consumed by the unrelenting hunger, standing with locked knees and vacant adoration

slipping, slipping into the end, is it falling if there is no sense of movement, just the gradual eventual consumption, like going to sleep with open eyes

every molecule of being slowly unraveled with a nonchalant ease, just fading out without giving in, a sense of becoming less while joining infinity

resplendent emptiness, finding your inner beauty by phasing out of existence, an inevitable paradox of being while not being at all, of living in death