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In the deepest darkest depression, a void where stars expire, A mind adrift in cosmic gloom, no orbit to aspire. No comet’s blaze, no planet’s course, no light to guide the way, A nebula of shattered thoughts, where hope has bled to gray.

Within this skull, a black hole reigns, where memories collapse, Each fleeting dream, a dying sun, snared in despair’s cold clasp. No galaxy to cradle life, no spark to warm the night, The heart, a derelict moon, spins in eternal blight.

What path, what purpose, what faint star could steer this barren drift? The cosmos leers, a hollow vault, its spheres no longer lift. No warmth, no tide, no radiant dawn to pierce this stellar grave, A universe of ash and dust, where only shadows rave.

And lo, the end, a singularity, with icy tendrils near, Doth whisper low, a final pull, to vanish in its sphere. To merge with naught, to cease, to fade, in dark oblivion’s maw, No fight remains, no will endures, no dread to cling or gnaw.

Yet still I linger, bound to flesh, in this celestial tomb, A specter lost in starless depths, where only anguish looms. The deepest darkest depression grips, a cosmos cold and vast, My soul, a wraith in lifeless voids, forever doomed to last.

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