whispers in the dark

i don't have to listen to you, don't you? no, no ... ... stammers when it appears that the darkness has grown, attached to the infinite void a sliver of hope continues to retreat. hurry and make peace, shake the hand coaxes my mad genie, refusing to grant 3 wishes because impotence appears to be a trait of this magical being also in servitude to something higher and what is? the thickness of the black sun mocks, touches my spine - no shivers came about, just a weight that i shall not escape this. this silence, this set in stone responsibility, this crusty exoskeleton begins to shake off bony dust crumbling as the weightless universe blossoms like many balloons inside. ouch. that hurt, the i said when once again i was pushed towards a place neither refreshing, neither wholesome nor pure delight! because honey is almost always absent in this square hole, everything is cut out neatly. cookie cutter really, the many i's all look alike when they finally meet while the dark pretends it is not there observing, keenly patient, it is a virtue is it not? how horrid, i spat then an angel appeared to blend in with the sliver of hope, whacked me upside down the angel did. i like the darkness, at least it was truthful, you know: not to be mistaken for something else. but angels, they scare me, it's a trick you see, hell turned inside out where all the vices become virtues. it's not you know, just whispers in the dark and it feels good.