[ WP ] Dscribe depression in a contextless monologue .

It's dead flat, here. It is neither night nor day, but that peculiar half-light where the air itself is colourless. I am an automaton, breathing in the grey, lungs inflating, deflating, dead-meat-repeat. I taste week-old soda water left in the sun. 
 I am taking up stale space. 
 My shadow is faded and frayed about the edges. It flares and compacts as days pass, suggesting time still exists somewhere. But it remains tattered, and I remain standing on its tail, pinning it in place. Neither of us are moving. We are both beyond repair. 
 The shuttering of my eyelids is becoming irritating. Sticky-click. Clicky-stick. Stop. They seize open, clagged with the grit of my own dullness. I suppose I will stare down at the featureless ground with my feet stuck in it forever, now that I can not summon the wherewithal to blink. 
 I can not tell where my skin ends and the grey dust begins. I am subsumed, consumed, dissipated. These thoughts come like squeezing half-set concrete from a tube, but I am powerless to stop the torment of these constipated words. My skull overflows with sluggish, sullen logs. 
 Over enough time, perhaps their mired foulness will overwhelm me, and I will dissolve into my own shadow without taking a step. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

