There is a darkness full of colors I've never seen before. It browses the cracks of my mind before spilling into my nose and mouth and ears where I smell and taste and hear the darkness.
But I've never seen it.
When I close my eyes, I see flurries, flashes, fires - the darkness is lightning and stars, photo flashes, bright billboards, spotlights and screens, airplane blips blinking and blinding the black-blue night that once tried to pretend to mimic darkness but frankly never even came close.
I know that, even though I've never seen it because
darkness
isn't night, not a sight, nor lack of light. You can't close your eyes to forge it or open to forget it.
Darkness is a path you walk on that you walked to that you don't mean to walk on that you didn't mean to walk to. Your feet aren't fixed the in treks etched into Earth below, though; your mind is.
Darkness is heavy - full of everything you can't know.
Darkness is empty and you can't find anything in its clouds or rocks or water or smoke or heat.
Darkness is air that is cool and free and fresh - tucked, sealed, licked, sent in an envelope; bent, gone from hope; lent, long from scope - the scope of others, the explanation, the reasons, the logic, the whys, whats, hellos, are you theres, how are yous.
Darkness is a pool that is warm and wide and weighty - heavy with waves of lapping loneliness, slapping you like molasses and dragging you into the sea you can't, don't, won't see below.
Darkness is a clock that ticks to the beat of its burden. The hands flip you off then spin within a circle, carving its curve every round. Then they stop, poke, dig at you in one place for longer than they span and slicing, dicing, dashing, gashing you.
Darkness is powder that sprinkles and scatters and blows everywhere, that you can never fully dust or dream or drain away, that you can never wear or wash or wave away.
Darkness is syrup sweet as maple, so you swallow it swiftly and just as it spreads over your tongue is grower thicker like cough syrup before hardening crumbling and cracking like asphalt in your mouth and now, too, in the rest of your body because you swallowed into where you were hollowed, but not anymore because of the darkness and it's too late.
Darkness is a warm rub and a cold slap that leaves you as blood red as bruised blue as perished purple as the colors you'll never know.