“What am I?” the voice I hear scythes with intricate malice. “Who am I?” But no answer comes flying with any precision, to hit the target, to burst the bubble and provide any insight. “Where am I?” a sense of confusion layered thick with incomprehensive fear.
Once there was something that hung around and the things that shared that space clamoured in panic to escape, crushed all before them to flee and in doing so fed upon the stillness of those less frantic.
But now a simple state, of empty dread and nothingness and the same repeated painful thoughts