Fog

This sickness is worsening, everyday gets longer and every night gets shorter.
Less and less sleep is achieved due to the never ending cycle of nightmares.
When will sweet relief come?
I feel the emptiness growing.
The darkness is spreading, soon I feel that there won’t be any coming back for me, not out of this tunnel.
Every fear I have, is whispering sweet nothings into my ears, every devil on my shoulder is telling me to do it; persuading me to give in.
Someone find me, here; lost in the fog.