In the Abyss, a soul watches.
This soul contains everything. yet it is stilled on the horizon, staring back at you.
It does not shutter, it does not blink, It is still looking at you when you close your eyes.
You know deep in your heart, it will never break its hardened gaze. You ask yourself how long you can bear to look.
Even the thought erodes your composure. A glimpse with the fluttering eye shatters a spine.
You ask yourself how long you can bear to look.
In a past life, you were the soul, staring back at a somebody. In your next life, you will be the soul again.
You ask them how long they can bear to look.

On a spire that pierces the sky, a nomad digs for gold.
He digs, and digs, and digs. With time he finds a mineral richer than gold- willpower.
The nomad forges himself a spade with this newfound willpower. He lines his armor with the material. He will dawn it into battle when he fights the soul.
In the past life, he was the soul. And he knows its very weakness.
As the sun shrinks, he tightens the blindfold around his greasy hair.
He descends the spire into the abyss. The soul encompasses him on all sides.
The soul asks him if he is itself. The nomad nods, dejected.
Whirling, the soul grabs his spade. It digs, and digs, and digs at the nomad, With time, it finds a material sturdier than willpower- ambivalence.
It forges itself armor lined with the material.
The mass of the world tries to writhe its way into the chainmail.
It slips right through it, falling far into the void.
The man and the soul ask you how long you can bear to watch.
You take your blindfold off.

In heaven, no one is watching.
There is no clouds to hold back tears or angels to speak for their god.
Heaven does not move. It is stilled in an infinite sky. No one can ever breach this place, you among them.
Heaven wears an armor that is lined with the souls of nobody. Its protection matters not when it is a destination with no roads to access it.
The merchant drops his bags. He spends the afternoon drawing heaven in his own perfect vision.
There is children in the garden, there is bees in the flowers, there is a sun in the sky with a moon in its hair. There is ambrosia to sip and women to court.
He asks himself how long he can bear to ponder.
You glimpse the man through the canvas and shatter his spine.
No one will desecrate god's perfect kingdom.

In the abyss, you are a soul, watching.
There is ambrosia to spit and flowers to pick. There is children buried in the garden and a moon in grief over its light, there is women to harm.
The abyss wears an armor lined with the gaze of a soul. It will not break.
Heaven takes its blindfold off to look at you. It can not accept your presence. Its spine shatters.
A supernova one trillion lightyears away whispers a long forgotten message to your ear.
The message you will never be allowed to forget.
The moon stands idle over your body.
You gaze at her with the eye of the abyss. You ask yourself how long she can bear to look back.

You awaken in the courtyard.
The memory of heaven is all you are.
You are the only thing left to watch. All you are allowed to watch is memory.
Memory paints you a canvas of what is to come.
The colors fracture through your cranium.
It tells you a long forgotten message.
The message, you will always forget.

On a spire that pierces the abyss, a nomad digs for the cacophony.
He prays to the dormant god to awaken once more.
In the courtyard. You fall into a slumber.
In the slumber, there is a dream.
In the dream, there is a child.
The child wears an armor that is lined with dreams.
In these dreams, there is a courtyard.
In this courtyard, lies you.
The child asks you how long you can bear to dream.
You shatter their spine.