"I will become a shining ash in the pitch-black darkness."
When the heavy space of despair chokes my lungs, my eyelids tremble in rebellion. Moreover, my outstretched hand can never reach, leaving only yearning and pain at its edge.
Unspeakable sorrows compel me to console myself, and physical deprivation engenders emotional loss.
Yet, even at the edge of that splendid emptiness, I exist in my own form.