DaniKingDun

escaping through the top layer. 

A depiction of what walls are made up of, 

no escape once it consumes the shell. 

 

Then, the shift. 

In that dark room, with a hint of light, 

a friend was waiting, perhaps. 

Desperate to break free, 

I heard a whisper:                                                           I’ll be your friend. 

 

Consumed in the mess of shadows,

We talked for hours, as usual.

 

It was comforting. 

 

We became friends, the shadow and I. 

But now, it is angry with me again— 

accusing me of abandoning it for the light. 

It misses those chats long into the night, 

the reminiscing, the inner turmoil and tears, 

the strange, adolescent fun. 

 

I was taught to avoid it, 

to fear the dark shadow of the self. 

But in the darkness, it prevails, 

waiting for a knock at the door, 

already seeing the path the light tries to show. 

 

Bring the torch from the main source: 

without light, there is no darkness. 

And once the shadow showed their face, 

it was never the same again.