The field lies before me.
An empty void of flowers and beauty,
yet the darkness soon curls over it.

Burgundy, obsidian, midnight blue:
lurking over the daily dew.
Hungry for all joy.

A column of bright stays,
yet it is not one to praise;
a menacing whip inhabits it.

A tall creature of foreboding,
escorting fog, seemingly floating.
The whip appears in his grasp.

Whispers reach at me as the fog moves him forward.
Scratching at my skin, I’m cornered,
yet hundreds of acres lie before me.

The creature thrashes the whip.
Curling towards me is the tip.
Blocking him from sight makes the words growl louder.

The whip makes contact,
yet the feeling, I lack.
The brokenness inside of me lingers.

Burgundy, obsidian, midnight blue:
The whip’s whispered words remain in view:
“fat, forgettable, ugly, useless.”

A tear rolls off my face.
The man notices and disapparates.
The darkness, though, remains.