Concrete

It reflects me. Walls of consistent matter against which you only
crash,
crash,
crash,
but cause no damage. 
Disrupting the void is not an option. 
Everything we know lies between these predetermined lines, these safekeepers. Ideally, nobody would ever know the Other existed. The fact that we do annoys us, we despise them. 
Concrete is not fair, but I am addicted to its presence. I slice my tongue open on its surface as I kiss it with conviction. The taste is sandy, dry and presumably unhealthy.

Eating a bad tomato is unhealthy too. 

I listen to it breathe, it talks to me, from deep within the entity's presence. The sound is muffled, but if you listen hard enough, you can hear it. 
It is telling me it will follow me, wherever I go. 
I cannot do anything but accept. 
After all, it has already decapitated me.