The Weight of Shadows

Free falling into chaos always seemed like child's play to me, something so natural to descend into I could call it breathing. To allow those inky, black tendrils to seep into every pore, every mark, every imperfection. I called to it like a master, of my own darkness, my own death. I willed it at my command, and while it has accompanied me on a very long, and somber quest I wish for it to leave me. Only, it remains in the morning after I am sick to my stomach from numbing myself with shadows that cling to my skin the night before. Have I made the mistake of turning my affliction into an unrequited love? Have I held too tightly onto this thread of hope for a savior when I know only I can save myself?