Why?

I love being museful. It makes my days so much better. But also hurts my hand because I write so much. But I'm to happy about that to complain much. I blame the sun for my sudden burst of muse. So here is Why::

In utter darkness I ask.
I ask. I plead. I beg.
For anything other then this dark.
For something to swallow the dark.
The emptiness.
The hollowness.
The sorrow that comes, and swells filling my chest.
Then fades away with the thoughts there was never any cause for it.
There is no need for the sorrow.
No need for the darkness.
Because the emptiness around me
I was it's creator.
I came from me.
From the feelings inside me.
It was something I had no control over.
There was a bright flash of light.
Then what seems to be everlasting night.
Came to rest.
But not the night.
Just the unsettling darkness.
The stars all fell out of the sky.
And why what I feel my be my dying breath.
I ask.....why?