Drained
The urge to join the dead of night.
A call of the abyss, illusions in the dark.
Voices, are they talking to me?
Can they hear me?
Inside my mind, something is rotten.
Something has gone bad.
The eyes, the window to the soul.
Time to shut that window.
Vocal cords slain by black scissors,
A dark mist ascends with each breath.
Heavy breathing, a poisonous odor.
The infection spreads.
It’s taken the limbs — and with them, the pain.
As I drift off into the void,
I am graced by silence.
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