Phantom
The fog comes in slowly, walking it's cold misty fingers across the ground and skating across my skin.It weaves it's way through my clothing and into my blood, silently stealing my breath and creating havoc with my senses.
The thief that creats the pleasant, but deadly distraction to the willing and ignorant soul, it slithers into the depths of the windows of my being and out again without cause.
If but one night alone is all I'm given, and all I recieve, I should gladly take it, for another may not withstand.
I cannot see into the darkness, for it is hidden from me in more than one way. It soothes me, yet I am scorched from the silence.
I can no more hear myself breathe than a blind man can see the twilight of stars in the night sky.
Looking into the vast emptiness, I see now why the Sun has left this hallow existance. Is it my damnation to walk the world in solitude? Is it my everlasting sentence to become one with the shadows? To never again feel the beams of morning rays caress my face?
This is my curse, and my blessing. To crave an eternal life of isolated essence, to be one with the complexion of my desires?
I no longer live, yet am not yet dead. I have life in it's barest form crwling beneath my skin. I am a walking phantom, plagued with the entity of unrest.
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