The Void Tracking

The tracks close upon themselves, endless loops of sightlessness. We trail the void, mapping it with bitter ink, yet find nothing where there is supposed to be meaning. The pages run blank beneath our desperate hands.

What we call truth splinters into a thousand shadows, each more uncomfortable than the last. Escape lies only in acceptance of the unfathomable emptiness we cannot help but crave.

The echoes mock, reverberating off the invisible walls of this uncharted domain.

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