Here, on my hilltop, Whilst the clouds roll in from all points, I stare from my window. A dropped catch, crumbling paint, and I rest my arms on the ledge. There it is, there, the city, And I, filled with despair, Impersonality pressed on my mind, Loneliness squeezing me down, Gaze into the void, its chasm, Fighting those monsters of fear, Remembering the voice of an old friend whose music rings in my ears,
‘When you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.’ That city, its houses, those hills, their clouds, Like dark demons from hell, calling my soul, Reaching tendrils and tentacles to drag me into the pit. I cannot bear it. I look away, and isolation, Sweet isolation, mimics the heel of my heart, that longing for grace divine.