i. Never once did She lift that pencil to chase away the nights and days
and nights of despair dredged up from hopes of immortality which
She hoped to achieve through Science, laying waste to that which
lays waste on the rest of the small men.
The utterance, how sacrilegious it rested in her heart, the same heart
She froze a long time ago so that She would not have to witness
that terrible Passion’s play.
ii. Reason had become her new love and Reason was a cold master
who taught her how to think, how to know, how to feel
the comfortable numbness of the unwavering mind.
Between LED pills and ASMR chills, she was nothing but a
charcoaled memory, a silhouette hastily strutting the stage
before the lights go out.
iii. And still sometimes She looks up and gazes at the stars
who gazed back at her a lifetime ago and She wonders if there is life outside
of this endless abyss of rationalism, if there is something about the
Nature of the world and the universe and everything that could fuse wings on her back and make her feel the euphoria again,
because she was alone, in all of eternity,
and you could see it in her eyes,
but never once did She lift that pencil to escape the artless life.