The universe lies gasping, A bleeding patient upon eternity’s table. Stars, malignant growths, Nebulae pulsate like infected organs, Space-time shredded open wounds. Dark surgeons arrive, Wielding scalpels forged from quantum void, Gravitational sutures threaded through black silk. Their hands, unseen and precise, Begin the futile reconnection, Stitching galaxies, closing cosmic veins. But healing births disaster, Seams burst violently, Reality splits, flesh-like, Gaping mouths of oblivion yawn wide, Black holes exposed infected sores, Spewing forth the nameless horrors, creatures older than the universe itself.

Primordial evil, lurking parasites, Dragged from the hidden chambers of nonexistence, Infesting matter, corrupting life. Their whispers echo, nihilistic psalms, Reducing hope to stellar ashes. An endless cycle of torment, Each suture births fresh atrocity, Each anastomosis deepens wounds, Until all that’s left is cosmic rot, A celestial body collapsing in on itself, Revealing the ultimate truth: Existence, merely prolonged decay, Suffering stitched into the universe’s fabric, Healing is illusion; pain is eternity, Nullanastomosis, Forever binding life to inevitable doom.