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A poem


Shadows

Alone, in a room filled with people, within arms reach.
But when I reach out to touch them I am clutching only shadows.
Shadow people, an illusion For I am solo.
The air is thick with the fog from these holograms. I can barely breathe without taking in mouthfulls of dense, stagnant air.
Air dark with shadows, grey shadows.
I call out for the warlock. For the master which creates this illusion.
At first so real in vision, but then changing, changing.
Untill it gives off a feeling of an all-engulfing wrongness.
And the vision turns to shadows.
I cry out again, maddened with fear. A chill runs down my spine.
The shdows grow dark as every hollow eye in every hollow head stares at me.
Black eyes. Cold, unfeeling, no truth held there.
Stares, glares, at the victim who is not made of shadows like them.
I know that I am hated for being different, unlike them.
Full, solid, pure of the darkness which engulfs them.
I open my mouth to scream, the fog fills it. I am drowning.
In a room full of stagnant shadows.
Like water pouring into my lungs. No chance, no hopes left.
I know that I will be dragged under.
I feel my fullness, my solidity, everything that separates me from the darkness, slipping as the unforgiving shadows slowly suffocate me.
I know what will happen, have known it for all time. I am not the first victim. No.
For history always repeats itself. It is law here.
If you do not willingly accept the darkness, become one of them, it will follow you, eating away at you piece by piece untill you succumb to it.
or else, if you prove resistant, it will simply engulf you. Then you are no more.
I am almost gone now. Still I struggle. Desperation, determination, and fear.
My last tear falls. With it my last hope fades.
Then a wind blows through the room, carries away the ghostly shadows.
I am safe. For now.
Nut I know they will come again. They will never cease, they never tire.
I know my fate.
They will come... and I will fight again.