It Hungers

Hungrily, greedily, despair gnaws at my heart, never resting, always weary.
Like a sickening mold it crawls into my heart and up my spine, growing and feeding on the hope, happiness and strength that once rested there. More quickly now it slithers, up my spine it curls, around my ribs it twists, slowly squeezing my lungs for their last gasp of clean air. Slowly it creeps up into my mind, settling its shadow over my thoughts and resting its sorrow behind blue eyes. Like the touch of fear it grips me. Not so urgent as fear, nor so hasty. No, the touch of despair is cold and damp,| a dreadful reminder of the evil that lurks deep within the spirit of man and the horror which slumbers still at the bottom of the world.

|Slowly numbing and freezing my soul until my spirit is so brittle as to be shattered by a vicious word or pointed look.