Watching All the Stars Burn Out… The air is still. Not as if in a vacuum. Still as in lifeless. As if Death could exhale. Jagged spears of a rock, all in symmetrical rows, claw at every horizon. Their clay red is stark against the black sky. The southern sky is ringed in crimson…
a poem, obviously
Of psychological horror and unbearable grief
Chapters 4-6
Chapters 1-3

Pretending to Care