Dark.

Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk to you again.

Gone were the days when the voices were too loud,

The idea of isolation became the yet-to-be-proven best solution,

Or have they?

Or have they remoulded themselves into a completely different yet similar atrocity?

Heavy in the chest — harder and harder to breathe by the minute.

The walls start to cave in,

There are voices too, different and unfamiliar from the ones before. Random, unheard of.

Is this supposedly its reincarnation?

Or were these already there before, creeping like a thief in the night? Waiting...searching...

Maybe a different perspective was what I need,

Because nyctophillia is not all that bad.

Sometimes – just sometimes,

Amidst the pitch black and possible claustrophobia,

A rare angel is found in the dark.


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