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They say all wounds heal with time.
But how do you measure time
in a place with no light?

I could not remember
how long I had wandered astray
in that empire of endless midnight.

Colors had all bled out.
Black had swallowed blue.
Gray had ashed over red.

The sun—
if it had ever shone there—
had disappeared behind a veil of stone
and had become nothing more
than a distant memory.

Where days blurred into one long, unbroken night,
the sadness took,
and took,
and took again,
like an insatiable parasite
burrowed in my chest,
suckling the sap from my soul
the way strangleweed chokes the life from trees,
its roots worming within me,
feeding on the rot it had planted.

I felt its bony fingers tighten around me
and pull me forward.

So, I walked
with the dull resignation
of something too tired to resist,
hauled down a path
I had never chosen,
but could no longer turn from.

The road ahead felt cursed.

Each breath was heavier.
Each step was a leaden weight,
dragging me closer
to the unseen flames
that licked the edges
of that night
that had forgotten dawn.

Somewhere along the way,
I had stopped missing anything,
except maybe—
that stupid part of me
that had clutched at hope.

Yet still, I pressed on—
though that endless march felt absurd.

It led me to the bank of the river
that had been calling me forth all along.

The black tide was whispering my name.

A faceless boatman was standing there,
hidden beneath his hood,
his lantern spilling firelight
across restless ghosts.

He seemed to be waiting for me.

I did not ask his name,
and I did not bother to ask
what price must be paid
to cross to the other brink,
because there are things you already know
before the question leaves your lips,
and deep down,
I already knew
the cost.

I thought about it.
I really did.

But just as I was about to step forward to embark,
something,
some ridiculous,
whispering ember in me
begged me to stay.

So I turned my gaze
from the void where darkness swelled,
and I looked upward.

A fragile glint absurdly far ahead
beckoned me forward
so I left the boatman, his lantern
and the churning river behind me
and I strode
upon that fateful shore,
dragging this body I barely recognized.

And the rage inside me,
the one that tried to **** me—
it quieted.

Just a little.

Just enough
for me to feel the air
still filling my lungs—
even if it tasted of fire.

Yes—
sorrow still draped its veil of stone over the clouded mornings.

Yes—
the wounds still ached beneath the stitches.

Yes.
Yes.

All of it—
Yes.

And yet,
I finally started to feel the blood flow in my veins again.

So,
I started to climb.

And,
to this day,
though weary,
though worn and weak—
having tasted the night,
having stood at the edge where the flames licked the dark,
having turned from the river that whispered my name—
higher, I rise
to emerge from the chasm.

For far beyond the ashen clouds,
I know something awaits.

Something vast.
Something luminous.

And I know—
one day,
when I step beyond this darkness
and pierce the cindered heavens,
the planets will greet me,
they will lay their blazing rays upon my shoulders
like a tender vesture of celestial gold,
and crown the scars upon my skin
with their halos of fire.

For I know the endless skies hold light
for all who dare to seek.
Matt 4d
the clock marks twelve with a
hollow chime.
in its wake, the air thickens, heavy
with absence.
shadows ripple across the walls,
shifting like thoughts half-formed,
dark and untethered.

the corner stretches, widens,
becomes something deeper,
a mouth that might swallow me
if i meet its gaze too long

the ceiling groans softly,
its beams contracting
as if under the weight
of something unseen.

i sit still, breathing shallow,
watching the shadows watch me,
and wonder if the clock
will ever strike one.
Darkness, is the lack of light
where nothing is bright
the black of a moonless night
deepest depth of the greatest sea where the day is out of sight

Darkness is a pressured mind
where life and people are all unkind
where your crying heart constantly pined
and depression weighs down to render you fatally blind

Give it time
without a sign
sun will shine
the blackness will be forgotton, for a while you'll be fine
Lisa Jul 10
My hands linger on the barrier tight,
Fingers twitching in the failing light.
Blood is drumming, hot and loud,
A whispered thought beneath the shroud. There’s a pressure blooming in my head,
Like every word I left unsaid.
It hums behind my aching eyes—
A silent song that never dies.
Half-lidded eyes, I am silent and watching
There waits the void -
                
         Gaping
                          
                    Calling
                                    ­  
                              Pulling

There's a gravity that pulls me near,
A silent whisper I half-hear
As the yawning void draws me in,
slow and thin,
I can't help but gaze, its pull a curious haze. It's promise I have not destroyed.
It sings in shadows, soft and low,
A voice that tells me where to go.

But still I hover, still I stall,
One heartbeat shy of letting fall.
I want to leap, to drown, to fly—
To find out what comes after why.

The wind shifts, and picks up my hair.
I blink and turn—no fanfare.
Just the concrete path, and the noise of life—the cars, the birds, the sun burning bright.
I shift my weight. The void still calls.
It tugs at my feet, my arms, my soul.
It's hold trembles. The strings snap.
I step away as the chords retract.
The mouth closes. Now threadbare—
fraying, curling...but I don't care.

I am stalwart. I am serene.
No longer caught in what has been.
The path ahead is cracked and wide.
I don’t look back.
I walk.
I try.

Maybe this is why.
First post here.
I wrote this in a moment of tension—between fear and curiosity, between holding on and letting go.
I think I’m still somewhere in between. If you give this a read, thank you. If you do and something pulls within you.....I know.
Peter Balkus Jul 9
My torch is switched off
so I could better see
the darkness, for only the darkness
can show me the way
and set me free.

My torch is useless,
I drop it on purpose. I pretend though
that I do it accidentally.
Jus to let my demons believe
that they still follow me.

My torch is dead,
and I am so alive.
I shine and I can't stop shining
with the inner
Light.
neth jones Jul 8
we filmed things
the audience would never forgive us for
then we edited them out
it was the right thing to do

the darkness remained behind the camera
but could still be felt by the viewer
06/07/25
inspired by the making of Wild At Heart
full version : we filmed things /the audience would never forgive us for/then the producer nudged the directors elbow/and we edited them out/it was the right thing to do/the darkness remained behind the camera/within the crew and actors /and in the scripts/but could still be felt by the viewer
Ariannah Jul 7
Shattered into tiny pieces
Broken by one's heart,
Left with the sharp releases
Of feelings left alone in the dark.

My skin, it starts to burn,
Flames that barred return
Inside the walls that once kept safe
The wild love that took place.

Their silence showed the way,
They could never be the one to play
The caring lover, the long lost hope;
And leaves my confusion with no strength to cope.
Cheyenne Jul 7
I lived in a vast darkness.
A fragile silence that even choked sobs could break.
But the black glass of quiet shattered,
When you battered the door.
Its hinges screamed,
Just as you did.
I cowered in the corner when I heard the bottle explode,
From where you threw it.

Then it was a blur.
Threats to give me a "real reason" to cry.
More glass smashed against the oak, before it collapsed onto the tile floor.

A sudden clarity filled me as I heard the click of a lock.
You had trapped me here.
The dark I had once longed to be in became a cage.

I screamed.
Begged.
Clawed the wood until my fingers bled and the paint peeled.
But you stomped away,
Leaving me in a suffocating blackness.

Time had passed differently then.
A day had become weeks,
But also a second.
Hunger consumed me and I was left to rot in my own filth.
The acrid smell from the bottles on the other side of the door burning my nose.

I don't know how long I was in there.
I don't know if I'll ever find out.
I don't know if I'll ever be the same again.

I still sleep with a light on,
And I still sleep with my room door open.
And I refuse to open the hall closet
That you put me in as a punishment,
For accidentally breaking a small vase.
Jeremy Betts Jul 4
Dark skies spill on me like black ink
To much to speak
To much to keep
There is no swim
Only sink
Stuck in the undertow of shiit creek
Can't plug the leak
No avoiding the brink
That comes in a blink
Don't peak
If the will is weak
Or the soul is meek
No hope left
For what I seek

©2025
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