In some twisted way,
I almost feel happy.
My body is tense,
My breathing rapid,
My mind skirts the edges of insanity.
My conscience hangs by a mere thread,
Dangling precariously over the edge.
In some twisted way,
I almost feel whole.
The dark that rapes me holds me steady,
It fills in the spaces otherwise unoccupied.
There are unexplored oceans,
Haunted by ghostly ships,
Rising high on the crest of the evening tide.
A beautiful, terrifying event to witness.
In some twisted way,
I see black as a colour.
The speck that grows in a distant corner,
Nearing its full force,
Is elegant.
Ever so gently, it drains my free will.
It absorbs my ambition, my desire to accomplish,
The very air in my lungs is anything but my own.
I am the black, just as the black is me.
In some twisted way,
I feel powerful.
The disdain I feel for myself,
Cannot be outweighed.
It moves, breathes death,
And with a mind of its own it consumes me.
Until, I have been overcome,
And the grass is grey,
Birds shriek in terror,
Waves crash violently against jagged stone,
Laughter turns to mockery,
Food is poison,
Sleep is a crypt,
Life is a tomb.
