There, in the one room, one deep pit, we look up. Hundreds of feet of smooth stone walls travel to the heavens, but there is that one flicker. Out of reach. Our hands grow weary as we try to get a grip, then bleed as we beat at the walls in helpless desperation. We try to scream, but the sound is no more than a whisper. We want to beg, to plead, for someone to reach down a helping hand. And when someone hears our whimpers and reaches into the cold, we knock that hand away, or ignore it.
We run from that light, throwing ourselves to the ground, staring down the darkening tunnel which seems to have no end.
Sometimes, we're overcome by the nothingness of it all. The numbness. We scratch fervently at our own flesh, just trying to feel something - anything. The pain, the small beads of blood, are a welcome addition.
Sometimes, we're overcome by the everything of it all. The extreme emotions coursing through us. We claw at our arms, begging for relief from the internal torment. The pain, the blood, distract us.
"It's okay."
"I understand."
"I'm here for you."
"It'll get better."
"Just pray."
"Have more faith."
These words echo through the halls - sometimes quiet, sometimes ringing in our ears. But they feel empty. Hollow words in a hollow hall trying to reach a hollow heart.
"There's always hope."
Lies! Why does it insist on crying out such falsities? Why does it insist on bringing about these tears? There is nothing within worthy of such tears.
There is nothing within worthy.
There is nothing within.
