This wall of matter has torn itself down.
Blackholes where the debris mutated into stars.
Debris of senses. Perhaps of thoughts.
It adores the light.
Absorbing without consent.
It can never be freed. For it was never captured.
It is its own maladies.
It doesn't really matter.
For the moment it is finally rising.
It is when it loses its self.
It is set to collapse.
