The burning inside, the hollowness consumed In thick, dark smoke choking me internally. This despair, caged like a wild beast eager to self preserve. The sepulchral dawn, as with twilight, reveals the peek through a blanket under which the scared child hides... Only for the next time the blanket is removed do we see a child's skeleton-Lost, like a baby deer falling down a hole, breaking their leg and dying with the vestiges of worry. But the parents are equally as dead, died long before the child sought this hiding place... Hoping another man happened to be seeking. How great and holy of a seek that is, when he seeks which can never be found. The little girl is now playing, she is now drowning... Can you not hear her scream? Can you not see the waving of arms as this innocent little girl is slowly submersed in water? Everybody continues passively, failing to see the little girl filling up with water In her lungs. Similarly, the girl is never found... And her remains remain submersed like a lost civilisation which has brought about its destruction through the inquisitive, yet lacking of component empathy. But, as they drown... As the little ones are slowly killed without notice, the painter sits in the street light painting away-Finding refuge in painting the suffering of the little ones... When this blind painter has finished he sees his result, a mountainous and desolate place-Covered in woodlands and snowy peaks. He awakens with a warm feeling, like being blind is 20/20 eyesight... The birds chirp, the child drowns, the sound of the hounds weep in the night at the suffering their pack faces in failing to find the means to live. And I lay here, an omnipresent and omniscient man on the blizzard covered plains of ice, I sit there nude... Not feeling anything, not feeling the overwhelming adversity due to the pre-acknowledgement.