The Sound of Silence in Darkness

I feel the darkness so closely it is like an oil on my skin, sealing me, coating me, and so slowly suffocating me. I am drowning in it as it drags me to my knees and lower, ever lower, whispering “lies, lies, it is all lies.”
When I reach out through the blackness I am cut and slashed and sliced by the things that should steady me. They open wounds to the bone and let the darkness slip in and coat me from the inside out. I can taste it in my mouth and in my throat choking me.
I can hear the muffled voices trying to reach out to me and find me in the dark. I cannot feel them. I cannot see them. They are lost in the swirling curtain of black. They cannot reach me and I do not know if I want to reach them. If they touch me I will shatter. Only the darkness is holding my pieces together now however tenuously. It is on me and in me and it is now me.
I dream in darkened dreams of escape. Of opening myself and watching the darkness drain in red-tinged black until I am empty and gone. I am nothingness in a shell. This broken shell is the steel bars of my prison. The darkness whispers of freedom in my ear. I long for freedom. I long for peace. I no longer care for light. I no longer care for joy. I want peace and the blissful sound of silence.