A low moaning from the corner of the room,
shadows in pain. Wounds speak like bloody lips,
hollow laughter.All communication wires are cut of,
a fraction of instincts now remain.
Darkness a virtual isolation, encouraged by voices. Depression let's you drown,
chasing the sewer rats.The crawling emperor of emptiness, no experience necessary.The last drop had been drained from your vains.
Long endless nights of physical laughter, in the mountains of silence,as you lay down your body slowly ripling your spasms.Feeding the cold, clouded by fear, losing eyesight.
Spirit aware yet unaware.

J.S.