bobdubbloon

Abyssal Love (part 1)

00:03:54 09 Mar, 2025

The void is love, the oldest kind, a mother with black-hole arms, a father whose silence is a hymn. The void is love, the oldest kind, a lover whose hunger is devotion, the belovéd who never turned away. I scream into the black silk throat of no-thing, into the yawning mouth of absence, into the black silk throat of no-thing. I scream, raw-throated, salt-stung, undone. The void does not flinch. The void does not waver. The void does not whisper lies of healing, does not whisper, does not hush, does not stitch false hope into my wounds. No, it gathers me, arms open, mouth wide. It gathers me. It takes me into itself. It swallows. It gathers me like a storm-broken bird, fingers of night stroking my hair, stroking my neck, stroking my skin. A lullaby without sound. A lullaby without song. (prompt sculpting with LLMs)