It is now, in the midsts of the night, when the moon crests the zenith and basks my mind in its silver glow, that I feel the darkness that exists in the corners of my mind. It slowly slides the coffin lid to the side and rises like a creature in need of fear knowing when it’s time to feed. I know it rises, for I have summoned it against my will; my mind has. Oh how I loathe and tremble when I feel it rising up from its slumber. It waits there, silently, for me to call upon it in my darkest hour. Frailty is my name and it beckons me to answer to it when it extends forward it’s icy fingers to summon me. My mind, weak as it may be, cannot resist. It goes to it and begins to wander in the darkness of my cold room, and all at once am I captured in the sense of dread that moments before had me feel as if the world was mine. Like a drinker of souls, the darkness and loneliness feed upon my soul like two sinister sisters of death, and sucks from within it its life force. I’m left, there in my bed, a bewildered babe weeping in the moonlight, afraid of my own mind.
I am loneliness now; a dark shade of a creature my mind created and loosed upon myself, and in time, I will kill me.