This isn’t our den. This isn’t a cavern where we can rest. Where can sit it out. This is just a fold of the void. There’s nothing warm or tender here. This isn’t an embrace. This isn’t a camp made just for us. We’re not to rest here. Not to regain our energy, so that we can just launch forth again.
This isn’t some burrow where we can sit things out.
There’s nothing but catastrophe. Don’t pretend. Don’t think that any of this is good, or worthwhile.
Work in Progress 