The Black

Every piece of article I could own has to be black.
The lines around my eyes have to be black.
All I wanted to see when I closed my eyes was black,
but that could never be.
Instead of the blissful darkness, I get pictures and reels of all the things I want to avoid.
All the hateful words said my way,
not just from myself but others as well.
The faces that look down on me
like I am nothing but a bug under their feet,
just as I feel. It's pictures and sounds when all I want is darkness and quiet.
It's the chaos when it is supposed to be calm.
It is a war inside that won't let me sleep.
I am the prisoner, threatened to be tortured until I give in.
And just as the sights and sounds become all-consuming the black sweeps in.
Unstoppable, sudden and so very welcomed.
The black is what I need what I want and who I want to be.
Quiet and free.