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|    Poem to the call of the void                                                |
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|   Not a day goes by where                                                      |
|   the call of the void is void;                                                |
|   Despite suffering is absent,                                                 |
|   Mind still wrought by the hot liquor.                                        |
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|   Through these embers of of foresight,                                        |
|   did spark fury and fire upon wool,                                           |
|   laid upon my eyes blind.                                                     |
|   Burnt to ashes.                                                              |
|   Gaze unfit for existential dread.                                            |
|   Still, I slumber,                                                            |
|   through the thick tar of my mortal coil.                                     |
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|   For call ignored,                                                            |
|   I must be deaf.                                                              |
|   Silent world, cursed and blessed,                                            |
|   Yet, eyes still betraying.                                                   |
|   Hope to ruin.                                                                |
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|   Forsake my birthplace?                                                       |
|   Born of being and void,                                                      |
|   No will to form;                                                             |
|   No mind to think,                                                            |
|   No voice to cry suffering.                                                   |
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