The more she talks the more I hate the ultimate outcome of things yet obtained and that which crawls from the marrow of madness to the cursed reality of substance. When will it end this insanity of selfishness, the wallowing in self seeking refuge? I can only dream of the day and yet it will never come.

Cursed be the day I was born. Cursed be the day I stepped foot into the carnal state of existence. Nothing is more elusive than peace in the day of the end. Cause as a woman labors in birth so shall the end of days be. My heart is torn, and my head reels in quantum jolts of sanity to insane. I fear not what man will do to me but what God will do or what he has done. Cast aside the luminous day which man walks for the fear is not in the light but in the darkness of night.

All though light shines, truth hides. In the darkness it revels itself so not man nor woman sees but yet they are consumed and swallowed whole by the frenzy of its hunger.

Hide now, but you cannot.

Seek now, but not find.

Knock, and it will be opened.

Ask now, but nothing given.

End it shall be and the beginning of which we all cannot see.