It is a shroud of black velvet.
It is the violent ocean in the dead of night.
It is the monster in the shadows; the Vashta Nerada.
It is the final crash of symbols in Carmina Burana.
It is impossible to lift.
it is impossible to breathe.
It is impossible to see.
It is the only thing that can be heard.
It is why the stars disappear at night.
It is why every light drifts by without stopping.
It is why the gnawing starts and never ceases.
It is why nothing else matters in the end.
It is my disease.
It is my disability.
It is my misfortune.
It is my death sentence.