It comes, gently.
I slowly breathe it in as it begins to fill my nostrils.
The aroma is familiar and moody.
It grabs me by the ankles and gracefully pulls me down.
Before I even realize it, my arms have become bound to my sides so I can't move.
Over the course of days and weeks it reaches and settles into my lungs, now my very breath.
I don't feel much like breathing at the moment.
The darkness is strong.
It is overpowering.
It overshadows everything.
It holds me captive.
It is consuming.
It is life stealing.
In the darkness there is no laughter.
Joy is a myth and I don't believe it is real.
This darkness, it is the very thing that I breathe.
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