Zachary J. Tan
A sinister fog rolls in, refuses to clear; it blocks all, forces a retreat to the darkest abyss of my mind — he floors are drenched with tears, but nobody can hear the sobs, the internal cyclone of gloom keeps me from escaping (I am prisoner here) I try to outrun the shadows only to end up in the same spot, the sinewy tethers pulling me ever lower (I am prisoner here) the people around seem to notice, most don’t care, some pretend to, and a handful actually do; do this, do that, that’s how you’ll feel better, just stay positive, look at the bright side of things — easier said than done when you’re not being crushed by the sheer gravity of the black hole that has come to replace your soul (I am prisoner here) when your eyes have been gouged by that creature that lives in the chasm of your mind, seeing the bright side of things becomes nigh impossible, because you know you belong to darkness, and it will never let you go (you are prisoner here); the internal consumes the external — those around you avoid you for fear of getting sucked into your event horizon, stretched painfully as they too are consumed by that fog — the endless whirling drains the vigor and hope out of anyone foolish enough to stay, turning them too into empty frail husks ready to disintegrate at any moment; we all end up in the same place when our bodies cease to function, why take the long road if instead it can be expedited; early grave, late grave, either ways it’s still a grave; who’s to say that a “fulfilling” life is the “right” way to live; why should we care when we have no soul left to save; nothing matters — I don’t matter, you don’t matter, we are all bags of dust waiting to be disassembled by time and nature — nobody understands the damp uninviting hole that we’ve fallen into (we are prisoners here); welcome to the abyss, welcome to your new home, finally, somebody that understands, too bad there’s nothing you can do about it.
Clamor 