going about in routine

the charade ends

“what’s next?”

Henry is waiting.

look around

there is dark

search for the light

like he always does

the light is not here yet

“what’s the point?”

of holding on to this rope

the rope has an end

all ropes do

the ropes of rationality

they end into the dark

the dark is the void

it touches him

it is cold

it is silent

it chills his spine

give him the light

he craves for it

he needs the warmth

the warmth of pretension

of living flesh

of exhausting himself

of finding a subject of dedication

of believing in shared myths

it’s cold outside

don’t touch the void

it will rattle you

like it did poor Henry

don’t touch the void

don’t touch it.