When I look through my window, I see black outside. It is morning. When I am about to

drop asleep, I see it white. It is night. Where there is life I see death. People dying slowly from

the second they are given life. And in death I see life; the time given before them before they

have experienced the holiest of all scythes, Death.

My world is downside up, with the swirling of memories, growing within my vast

expanse of nothingness within me. White feelings are blacker than charcoal, and the darkness of

black has never felt or looked more like snow.

The whirlwind approaches; The Great “Rewritement” of history. I heard he was

certifiably insane, yet still a genius in his own right. I heard he believes that he knows where

society is going, and he doesn’t think it’s a very good path.

I heard it’s me.