There is a chasm. In my heart. It appears to grow. Not my inches and foots. But by miles and knots. The chasm. It is dark. What lies within I cannot see. Clairvoyance. It has failed me. Empathy. Mutilated to suit the design. Has failed me. The variables are constant. It is just me who cannot gauge them. The variables are variables. They are not constants. Yet they remain the same. This is not chaos. This is anarchy. The chasm must be closed.