Not exactly poetry, more like a collective writting of semi-organized thought
I walk into the darkness, its inky nothingness surrounds me like thick, viscous water. I open my mouth to call out for you, anyone, everyone...anything that might bring an end to this horrid emptiness within my soul, but the nothingness floods into my mouth, drowning me in its cold, abyssal something. As I die, I realize that it is not something I walked into, but instead it is what is inside me, my life and my soul that is drowning me. My own darkness, my own fears, my own...responsibilities were keeping me from doing what I needed to do. And are even now slowely killing me, as assuredly as a knife slowely twisting inside me, merely searching for that vital organ, to make it all end.
I walk into the darkness, its inky nothingness surrounds me like thick, viscous water. I open my mouth to call out for you, anyone, everyone...anything that might bring an end to this horrid emptiness within my soul, but the nothingness floods into my mouth, drowning me in its cold, abyssal something. As I die, I realize that it is not something I walked into, but instead it is what is inside me, my life and my soul that is drowning me. My own darkness, my own fears, my own...responsibilities were keeping me from doing what I needed to do. And are even now slowely killing me, as assuredly as a knife slowely twisting inside me, merely searching for that vital organ, to make it all end.
