The rain has ceased — only silence weeps. My hands, pale roots, clutch sinking earth. I see the void, and it sees me — a mirror that mocks rebirth. I whispered once of hope and flame, but those tongues have turned to ash. Now every heartbeat feels the same, each throb a quiet lash. There’s comfort in this endless fall, a velvet cradle of despair. The dark remembers — it recalls the names that life forgot to care. So let me rest where echoes blend, among the ghosts that hum my name. If this is death, let it not end — for madness feels much the same. And somewhere deep where time has bled, a final truth begins to hiss: We never feared the dark, my friend — we only feared its bliss.