The Reeking Chasm

This ill;

Such that no matter what anyone says or tries to do to reassure you of your own integrity or decency, and whilst you may believe them, there exists in your southern brain, conjoining the spinal chord, a swelling and burning fire that warns you, like mercury, of your ills, and the cackling hoards who entertain themselves with stories of your pity and vice, stripping naked your fleshy wounds, revealed to the harsh winter and you wait for the moment where time has filled the cavern within, the sad, empty and despairing hole which consumes any sense of goodness or happiness and draws you further and further from reconciliation, the reeking chasm…which shimmers as a pool of darkened blood, when moments of laughter flash across the moonlit sky and bounce from the edges and vanish, leaving behind a roaring tension, biting and tearing at your shoulders, clawing hands trying to drag you into the dark and all of a sudden you see…you know who lies beneath the darkness…old nihil, that you’ve known so well, a comfort which allows you to settle into meaninglessness, knowing that it matters not whether you do or do not, for the bottomless opaque well is everything, and if you surrender yourself to it’s warm clutches, you can look on with careless disgust at all around and find in your rejection of all, a virtuosity that you hitherto thought you had lost through the guilt and shame, but there, in this righteous nothing, exists no life for you, no goodness unto yourself, those who love you, or those in society who need you, there lives in the reeking chasm only a vacuum, from which you might one day stare back, pondering the charred black prison walls of your life, despairing for one final time that you were enticed by the draw of this grinning volcanic abyss in which you have taken comfort for so long, and at the end, when the last fleeting glimpse of light is gone, you are left, only you, and the reeking chasm to which you fed your life. 

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