At the door of the black-hole-soul, a vacancy flashes, of a parent, brother, a friend, a lover, siphoning my vessel of all the things dark and light. From above He watches this game I play, watches me, break and scatter, and watches still, as I gather the pieces with timid hopeless courage. And I find myself at that same place of hurt and disappointment. The adamant self, discounting the altercations, the growth and maturity I pride in, only to realize that I am but, the solitary prisoner of my own self.
That, which has a beginning has an end. That, which is limitless and infinite is without a beginning and without an end.