The darkness is getting too heavy. The more I try to dig towards the sunlight, the more earth caves in around me and darkens my world. In this way the darkness is heavy. It gets in my lungs, it clouds my vision, it embeds itself in my skin, it presses against my chest and slows my heartbeat. I can feel my blood pulsing in my ears, it makes me long for the sight of it. Fresh red paint, bursting onto the canvas of my colorless wrists and staining the flesh eternally, the site of a self-made sacrifice. The pain of unanswered prayers for permission to give up. The relief of the hot rain falling from my eyes, temporarily cleansing the pain. The wounds healed but the scars stand out; bold and purple, in the cold. They stare at me angrily. Angry because I overcame. Another layer of mud rains down upon my face. My body. I stop. I lie down. It is comforting. I'm growing used to the dark. I can almost see forms. I can almost remember sounds. I can almost feel human touch on my skin.
Thunder roars above the ground. It rouses me from my self-induced slumber. Cold rain begins to flood my pit. I try to make myself small. But it begins to open me up. Dirt clumps in my hair become wet and muddy and run out. Small rivers begin to form around me, carving around, freeing my chest. I breathe it in but I do not drown. It hurts but it lifts the darkness from my lungs. I begin to feel alive. It widens up the earth, the sun shines just a little from behind a cloud. The first light I've seen in months.
Water builds behind me. It begins to flood my pit. It begins to lift me up.
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