Despair grips me mercilessly with grotesque gnarled fingers.
Seeking a space within me , insistent and probing, the inky lap, lap, lap of a desolate and black sea, against the feeble shores of my ravaged mind.
There is little resistance, my soul has become weary.
We dance a bleak and bitter waltz once more, until a familiar velvety darkness encompasses the space in my head entirely.
Often you show up here,
So frequently that we have become old friends, strangely easy in each others company,
Our union born from a nothingness world
The hell that has passed before as meaningless as the space that lies ahead.