The sun, so proud
To turn one's gaze away
Never seen but of artifice
Like this sullen look,
montage of expression never viewed
Thrust me to view myself from the cosmos
To gaze at this apathy as another indifferent star
While the sun and I cower below artifice
Unaware of a true reality unburdened by man
Nihilistic, but why care? What to care about, what to watch?
It won't watch back; it can't
Why live if the next moment is imminent
And all traces of a past are infinitesimally divisive among this
This preceeded moment of nothing
Force this flesh into the dying sun
It won't care, either
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