It’s where my demons hide.

Murky,inky darkness. Shadows that seemed to be made of the same material that the mantle of night is weaved out of. Wave upon wave of undulating black, the ebony in no place giving way to a gentler colour.
The air itself was stifling,suffocating. There was something about this place that blotted out all joy. That smothered all dreams, snuffed out the smallest flicker of hope. No, in a place like this, your own thoughts would turn on you, growing thorns and malicious spikes, driving you to the very brink of insanity; dripping bitter, bitter venom into happy memories; poisoning them, warping them beyond recognition. Torturing you, twisting facts and contorting reality. Distorting it to a version that would suck the air out of your very lungs, leeching the red out of your blood,leaving you disillusioned,disturbed,brittle. Ready to crack and shatter into a million irreparable pieces at the gentlest touch, the slightest breath,the softest whisper.
A place where your deepest fears and insecurities come alive and reign triumphant. Where they hold the reins of control, and use them against you ruthlessly,mercilessly. Where you writhe in submission,for fighting is futile. Where you lie powerless, broken, grovelling at their feet, begging, begging for some respite.
For relief as you battle your demons. As they conquer you, crowing in exultation over your broken spirit, your piteous whimpers music to their warped minds. Trampling on your will, crushing it underfoot.
Another battle lost in a lopsided war with a predetermined winner. It would be so much easier to surrender, to throw in the towel, but you are not given that luxury. No, you must get up to fight another day, even if your flesh is falling to pieces, your bones beginning to resemble dust, clinging to the last vestiges of your spirit. You must dance to the twisted tune of a higher power, one to whom you are but a marionette to control and toy with and eventually, throw away. Dance, dance on till your feet bleed dry, till your breath claws in your parched throat, your lungs fit to burst, to that endless tune, played on and on by one who relishes your pain, your suffering.
And no light awaits you at the end of the tunnel, just more darkness and despair, as you run face-first into yet another dead end. As you plummet from the brief high of false hope; and the black vortex sucks you in, yet again, its dark fingers wrapping,curling around you in sickening familiarity.

-Gautami.

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