I am the hammer that smashes the wall.
I am the wound that refuses to heal.
I am the hatred of a son for his father.
I am the father who kills his own son.
I have come to surreal depths of darkness,
The inescapable mouth of the vacuum,
The crushing infinite black weight on every point of my life,
Infinity of pain on every cell of my body,
Pressure of infinite regression downward
On every particle of my being.
Nightmarish despair with no apparent cause,
But beyond nightmares,
Profoundly immanent and more real than real
In the midst of the death of reality.
The looming faces of nameless beings
Who look and look and leer,
And in the terror of absolute darkness,
Presences swarm around me (teeming chasm)
And slash at me with the searing white pain of blank fire.
And the looming torment of nonbeing that yet is forever unable
To rid itself of the hum of consciousness
Lacking definite awareness – the nauseating torment
Of a blank white consciousness spilling forever into darkness.
Oh, this terrible weight under a demonic void.
In these last moments before I spill
Over the edge into the hole,
Father, can You still hear my voice?