Cradle of the Void

Neither here, nor there…

No home in being, no shelter in existence.

Neither alive… nor dead…

No star in the sky, no stone upon the earth, offers me refuge.

No past… no present… no future—

No thread of life remains.

Vessels run dry; no blood courses through the heart.

Caught within a spider’s web upon the wall…

The wall called Limbo.

Silken threads enfold me,

Guardians gather,

Encircling the Nonconformist soul.

Spiders spin their threads, weaving time—past, present, future—

Into the shroud of the uninvited, entombing her in glimmering silk.

Her sky and earth merge as one…

Her moon and sun drift apart…

Planets spiral into chaos, vanishing one by one into darkness.

Her world is devoured by black holes, each a ravenous shadow tearing at the edges of being.

And then—the explosion arrives…

Her gray world shatters, collapsing into a single grain of being.

The vast void of her universe quivers, folding in upon itself,

Until nothing remains but a spark of life.

The embers of her existence fade into silent ash.

Afterward… no whisper of her life is ever heard again.

Her world folds back into the silence before the first breath of creation.

She becomes the tiniest pulse of life—yet refuses to awaken.

She drifts in eternal stillness, cradled in the coffin spun by spiders…

A ghost of existence… dreaming of nothing.