In this story, my world is split into pieces every second and all the gods governing my breaking universes are me. Ruins do not scare me, beginnings do. The throne room is straw cottage. I hold counsel with my fragmented immortals, and hand in hand, we descend the spiral of madness. Stranger, you knock at the door of this feeble home, but come storming in. There are huts of dirt all around in this never ending land, and I will take up home in one of them, if this falls. It will not be long before you wear my soul too and then no map will let you out of its maze, so hurry away, if you do not wish to stay long.
This will fall and that is blood, I dictate. That is prison, and the thundering beast will be set free every cycle. It will spread its disease to these ducts and my infinite land will succumb, poisoned. I will see and weep, but pet the monster though it bares its fangs. I have built its cage from my bones after all. There is a world far away, there is an Outside. I wish I can see it, but gods live in my eyes, sight is a luxury, and therefore, all I see is myself. What a beautiful, torturous prison to live in, this infinite universe sack!