The bottom seems deeper today, darker, wider, more consuming.
The bottom feels eerier tonight, scarier, heavier, more looming.
Yet somehow there's a familiarity.
Have spent so long here, it's some kind of home.
The phantoms and demons keep me company.
But is it better than being alone?

The pit is damp, the air compressed.
The walls too steep, my mind possessed.
No wind, no movement, not a breath.
Just thoughts and visions, smell of death.
I look up, the sky is black.
I once was out, but now I'm back.
Outside the pit, on outer ground.
Though on parole, my soul was bound.
The thoughts, the visions came with me.
Inner, outer, never free. Never free. Never free.

One on the shelf,
Above the bed.
On the mantle,
Near the bread
Box, in the corner,
Of the kitchen top.
In the bathroom,
Next to the soap.
One more is my bookmark.
Another with the spoons.
Surrounded by my imperfections,
Mornings, nights, and noons.

Left leg red,
I wriggle.
Right hand blue,
He sprouts one more.
Left hand green,
I contort.
Right leg yellow,
He has four.
Right hand green,
I squirm.
Left leg blue,
His is two meters long.
Left hand yellow,
I fall down.
Playing twister with my depression,
There goes the gong.
I always lose, he always wins,
He cheats and I play along.

My endometrium is worthy,
To embed my future.
Just two things left now,
Embrace my past
And untangle my present.
If only I knew how.

The dark bead dropped on the cold tile shattering into tiny droplets before fusing again into a dull black mass. The edges creeping forward, outward, swallowing the border lines, expanding, launching thin arms, with gaunt, bony fingers. Soon the dark is all there is outside in, filling the lungs, crushing the air, the life.

The darkness flowed through the cracks in the floor, enclosing one tile at the time. Filling the room with a shadowy grip. Long, grim, fleshless fingers climbed up, into my throat. Clutching my air, leaving dark osseous char marks.