The height of the ledge granted miles of visibility, from which I perceived a landscape so barren that decay itself had littered the earth with writings of its famine.
Fixed overhead, the harsh sun exhausted every part of my being as my eyes pooled with gratitude—for I could not imagine the state of my vision had the ground been more solid and hoary.
Abandoning hope of amelioration, I watched as the stone below binged upon the light—reflecting only that which met it between guzzles.
From this binge, a subsequent purge of radiant heat ensued, seemingly serving as a form of remittance to the air through which the energy had initially been permitted to pass.
Tracing the cliff's face, the newly heated air rose in gusts to the point at which it met mine—further immersing me in a growing sum of vertigo.
Overwhelmed, I took a step back and—despite my efforts—still somehow managed to collide with everything existing outside of my posterior. The view of the desert displayed itself to me in full; I saw a place unapologetically indifferent to acknowledgement or understanding.
Haunted by permanence, the thought of the city struck me—and I became overwhelmed by the disparity; I felt myself choke on the recollection of its nourishless bounty—an ever-expanding sea of stimulation, perpetually begging for attention: damning us to be pruned by its abundance while starving in its own growth.
For centuries, a desire for more has given reason to manufacture new means for innovation; and in its wake, it has left nothingness itself—the true logical default—to now stand as one of the few remaining novelties.