Black was not my colour.
I got stuck in a dream. It was black everywhere, even I was unable to see myself. I didn't know it was morning or evening, I can only see darkness that is similar to the demon taking me in it's arms.
I looked out for a little ray of hope, with constant desire of luminescence. The settled darkness haunts me everytime I take a step. I did not let myself surrender to the dismay, but it was vigilant.
I had a flashback of my life. Seeing the reality I pretended that the cimmerian was making me realise that what happened in my life was merely a trifle.
I wonder Disappointments and pain that devastated me completely can offer me a chance to dominate over my fears or dilapidated fate, but the darkness that completely is ready to assault me and letting me feel blind without offering a ray of hope takes me to the world where I once stood paralysed with silence wearing it's crown, numbness at it's peak and tears soaking in pillows.
How serpentine of me to consider my quandary bigger than my own will. Fortunately it was the end of my dream. I woke up.
Black is my favourite color now not because we have to become the fear that we never want to face but it reminds me how life imparts us destruction sometime not to let us feel emaciated but to discover some new chapters that are closed.