Gray Abyss
There is a world few dare to see.
It exists right next to ours—so near it brushes against your skin, yet so distant it chills the soul. It was recently hinted at in public, and for a fleeting moment, I felt relief. Relief that I’m not the only one cursed with the sight.
This world—this living hell—moves beneath the surface of everything. It drags you inward like a black spiral with no bottom, no escape.
A rupture behind the veil, where masks disintegrate, words collapse, and smiles can no longer bribe what’s rotten inside.
It’s all gray—sickly, cracked, lifeless.
A silence so empty it devours sound.
Like shattered stained glass, stripped of color, meaning, pulse. Wanderers roam it—faceless, fractured, adrift. They search for something lost long ago… maybe themselves.
A way out of the twisted maze, a gasp of clarity in a fog that never lifts. Some tear through the veil. They dance at the edge, torn between worlds.
Others pretend not to notice. Most… they never will. They can’t.
It’s a film shot in pain, a grotesque portrait of deceit—
A limbo that mutates, swallows people whole, and peels souls to the bone.
And I— I am one of the “gifted,” Blessed with the unbearable curse of seeing through flesh, into rot.
I see what you hide. I see you naked, raw, and screaming beneath your quiet smiles.
And that truth—that lucidity—it scars. It haunts. It hurts.
Because no pain compares to being forced to see the real face of everything.
The outlines. The stains. The broken sketches of who we really are.
No one wants to be seen like that. No one wants to see themselves.
This parallel realm claws at me, keeps me awake while you sleep. It beckons in the dead hours, and I go. Again and again, I’ve crawled through that ruin. Ripped through the souls of those who crossed me— Clueless, blind, unaware of what they’d awakened.
Now? Now I resist. Most of the time.
It’s not thrilling. It’s not poetic. It’s not salvation. It corrodes. It feeds on you. It shreds what’s left of your softness.
But I know—
It will never leave me.
It is me.