These murky shades are best explained by ghosts, by phantom feelings and the fetid mixtures in my blood. My mind oozes like a watercolour left in the rain, in a storm, or beneath a tap left running too long. The colours were vivid, were vibrant, but now they run, they merge and darken like looming shadows, like spectres, spooks, deluded dreams of the darkness to come.Don't make me face the fog and the smog, the shade in-between it all.
It wakes me, it occupies me, distracts and haunts me.
When will these apparations falter and fade? When will the darkness lift?
