It’s heavy. The weight of it pushing down. Down. Down.
It’s crushing.
Yet comforting.
To be wrapped in a shawl of isolation. To enter a limbo that’s been created out of necessity. To enter and get lost. To get lost in the dark reality.
And dark it is. It’s nothing. It’s eternal.
It’s unnoticeable. Easy to hide. Easy to mask.
Autopilot.
It happens on its own now. It’s grown into an intelligence. Responses are automatic. Robotic. Yet somehow authentic.
It goes unquestioned.
It is invisible.
But not to the one it haunts.
No. To them, it is a thing of dark beauty. Its victims welcome it with open arms. Begging it to take them.
They always beg.
And it obliges them and takes over.
Uncensored Eloquence 