Descending

 I am descending - down through flickering, artificial light, beyond the reach of the sun - I am descending but I want to believe. Down through an underground of windowless space. Deep and deeper. I am falling but I want to believe that this decent into tenebrous and silent rooms will not last forever. 

Here is aluminum and steel, concrete and plastic space. A place of cold neglect and cold regret. Change the number. Delete the socials. No warning. No elaboration. 

There is an oily smell here. The air feels oily in my nose. It tastes of machines down here where the inconsistant lights flicker and hum incessantly. Malevolently like some strange and terrible rage, unfocused. Unexplained. 

I see fragmentary visions of empty rooms - vast chambers inhabited by memories. I see desiccated rats at the bottom of the elevator shaft. I hear rattle of insects with no subtlety. I hear the whisper of ten thousand slaughtered children half way around the world. 

Falling further now. Faster. I am descending through the earth or hell. Waking or sleeping and ill advised. I am descending. Falling. Beneath mountains. Beneath shadows. Into oblivion.