It is a pale darkness, always on the peripheral of life. Slumped, knowing and silent against a cold wall while you walk past in a hurry.
It is a creeping menace. A numbness that urges you to hide inside its empty halls and lonely desert gardens.
It beckons while you're not looking, acting all nonchalant when you turn around - making you think you're going backwards because you want to, not because it's calling, constantly, softly... making you paranoid.
It is an addiction. It is your melancholy friend. A part of you apart from you, making you feel less alone.
You drown out the noise of friends and family trying to help.
Be quiet! I can hear it now... It's calling me down.
I must go.