Eternal darkness that is my life, and there isn't a metaphor seeping in, I mean it literally.
This side of the globe is cast in shadows.
Clouds hanging overhead in dark clumps and watery lumps.
A twilit aura in lacklustre dense fog of restless bleak. Depressing and doomsworthy.
Satiny sheen accorded to everything inanimate while all that moves is reluctant to do so.
Frigid wetness that would be reminiscent of a glacial hamam while slimy fauna are currently in control of all flora.
The house, flooded with a funeral cheer is hopelessly melancholic at best, giving a rather Byronic dwelling like vibe with emo meltdown undercurrents. A perfect place for Gothic dinner date.
If there's a silver lining in the clouds it must have gotten horribly besmirched by the continuous rainfalls turning it into disintegrating rust, chipping into orange flakes whirling around the skies.
The only positive prospects to this otherwise Plutonian day are the birds, who can't stop chirping. They're awfully talkative today, or maybe the lack of any other noise has only made them that much more audible.
Day, day, go away. Come again another day or never
You don't deserve anything historical
vanish into the pages of oblivion
find your own little void and sneak into it
die a wet death dear day
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