It's voidless,
Soundless,
Serene,
As I flick myself off the edge of all that has existed,
Into the existence of what might be.
It's a black hole that devours us,
And dissolves all that was,
And all that could be,
As our voidless world becomes empty once again,
And peril strikes once more.
Devoid of pleasure,
One might seek,
The happiness and joy,
That others throw away in excess,
For they have too much,
And you,
Too little.
The void is quiet,
Soundless,
Serene,
As I enjoy my new surroundings,
And reflect on the past,
And what I've destroyed,
To become what I desperately run away from.
(Anhedonia: lack of pleasure, or the capacity to experience it)
