A shallow melancholy caught me in the labyrinth of torment and insomnia. My heart was pierced and disheartened by senseless whirlwinds of despair and anguish. I didn’t know where I was headed, but I could only feel a tremendous intimidation inside myself. A vast, gloomy shadow couldn’t allow me to see beyond the horizon. I had no destination, and it seemed that I had no free choice to escape from that doomed fate of mine. The haze was so dense, and the night was so dark that I couldn’t find any portal to allow me to leave. I screamed to the stars, but they refused to listen to my voice, and I was cast away from their gaze for eternity. The everlasting darkness granted me the utmost agony, and sorrow lulled me to a deadly slumber. So much I cherished my dreams, nevertheless, they vanished into the ashes of decay. Solitude and loneliness had spellbound me with their sombre and mournful enchantment. In a mystic aura, I was viscously bound to a magical realm of lost spirits and wicked wraiths, which whispered their laments to my ears. I knew not who I had become and what my name was. So much confused and chaotic was the state of my heart that it sank deeply into the abyss of devastation. I fell into ecstasy and bliss, enjoying my obliteration and every cut inflicted upon my body. Wounded and frantic, I shed tears of pleasure and delight. My sobs and sighs broke the solemn silence that was my most loyal companion in that kingdom of death and mortification. Frenzy squished me, and madness shattered my heart. I embraced the bitter emptiness, hovering like an ethereal creature in search of witchy dungeons and secret forests. And there were no beginnings nor ends in the domain of the shallow melancholy. I remained suspended from ropes, which led me into my perpetual descent. And I lay there, claimed by the hereafter.
Elisabetta Esther
Tag: spiritual descent
-
A Shallow Melancholy
-
The Shadow Of Death
The shadow of death was behind me, perpetually, like a faithful lover, tearing from my heart every hope of being loved and cherished as a unique treasure. It was a distorted mirror that reflected my anguish and my fears. It filled my cell with scarlet red incense, which constantly suffocated me, stifling me and preventing me from seeing my own image.
I lived this suffocating and abominable pseudo‑reality in constant terror, no longer understanding whether it was real or a surreal fantasy, the product of my hallucinations. I perceived those distressing candles that burned me alive every time I approached their presence.
The cold rock walls were so thick that, however much I strove to cry out and scream my pain, no one could ever hear it—no mortal and no creature from the subterranean world of the afterlife to which, apparently, I now belonged.
Amid dust and drops of my blood, I was relegated like a lifeless creature, feeding on the faint light of the blood‑red candles, and that suffocating incense that penetrated every part of my body. Even the stars refused to cast light into that narrow cell, where my pierced heart had been nailed to a dilapidated wall as if it were a souvenir on display.
I no longer had the capacity to harbour a desire or to hope for an existence wrapped in enchanted flowers and love spells. Everything I had dreamed of I had lost in the abyss of obliteration, and all that I had vainly pursued in my miserable existence had vanished, having only materialised into a bleak and mortifying prison for my soul.
And thus I vanished into that menacing and omnipresent cloud that loomed over me. Even the decrepit walls, made of cold and indifferent rock, had no tears to shed for my bitter demise. I myself had become the shadow of death, no longer a mortal being but a creature of that world I had so long shunned, which, despite everything, had devoured me entirely and inescapably.
Elisabetta Esther