beginnings always require an end. habits adjust accordingly, rooms become cemeteries. there are no units of measurement for loss or sadness. emotional reaction has been socially groomed in this hell, affixed to the value of contributing to the madness of the masses. a slow drone builds in the background.

what have i learned in these years, months, days? meaning is a personal interpretation & we are all alone together. the world has faded to black—our eyes are closed for the eternal slumber, all that remains are the phosphenes from digital screens of memories.