Whispers on the back of your neck,

A darkness spreads,

An all consuming dread,

Waking up to a monotone life-

Monotone people,

Monotone thoughts,

Monotone ideas,

Nothing creative-

For everything has gone dull.

 

So you begin to wonder-

What it would be like,

To see other colors and feelings-

But you never do it,

What would it feel like?

Look life?

You drown out the noise of your own find with headphones,

And a dull throb fills the spaces.

 

So all you do is stare,

And count,

minute-

to hour-

to second-

to day-

And eventually it starts to lose hold,

The whispers only come at late hours,

but the tears still come,

Each one shed loosens the grip of the darkness-

No more a cocoon but a blanket,

then a sweater,

then a patch,

then a scar-

that will never-

ever-

heal,

but remind you-

define you-

That this time has passed.