Dark is Night

Slammed down in the mudd, entrenched in grief, despair would sound nice if that was an available feeling. This shell of a body walks aimless without hope, the most dangerous feeling to live without, and is nothing more than a shell. A hollow brittle shell, ready to crack open, and echo silence. Fear is not an option, but somehow death seems viable. Almost becoming more and more welcome when understanding how guiltless the freedom must be to leave this hollow shell. Dissension holds court in this burdened vessel. A greedy wrath so diabolic even wicked thoughts shutter and stumble when trying to come to fruition.