The night continues to fall
and I become one with the shadows. 
Struggling to stay afloat,
I am stranded in this unrelenting flow
waiting for an ebb that never comes.

This tide is not turning. 

A darkness has awakened in me. 
You can cut its roots at the surface,
but it lives in twisted stems
and thrives in coiled tendrils
that are anchored in inky depths.

It is here that I shrivel and decay.

Enshrouded by blackness - 
though I occasionally glimpse a memory
of what it is like to be illuminated,
I have been buried too deep and
I’ve forgotten what the sky even looks like.

The ever-fading light continues to evanesce.

I drift further into this wretched gloom,
and hope perishes as every sliver of hopelessness 
claims chinks in the armour of resilience.
Vulnerability leaks through these cracks 
and facilitates a precise detonation, 
disintegrating every perfect façade.

Every particle of bleakness corrupts.

Surrender does not frighten me. 
The heaviness that thrums in my heart
possesses its own elaborate whisper,
one which traipses through dreams and 
populates them with grim finalities.
Sleep is no remedy for the tired soul.

Monsters exist, and they are ruthless.

Eclipsed by the shadows,
the night has fallen now.
I am sinking ever deeper - 
stranded in this unrelenting flow,
waiting for an ebb that never comes.

This tide is not turning...

Perhaps I am already sunk.

(Previously published on StoriesSpace)



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