A constant, unyielding state of grey.
Like a baseline hum. A drawn out note. A blur.
There is no punctuation. No beginning or end.
Just a forever middle. On infinite loop.
A metaphysical void. The absence of spirit.
In the pit of the tunnel
In that damp melancholy
It is most disorienting
Where nothing connects with nothing.
We are at the same time disembodied and imprisoned.
Stuck. Rudderless. Floating.