There is nothing but the black.
I always pray that my eyes will adjust, but they never do.
This box is not that big. I can feel the sides, find the edges and corners with ease. I have been here so often that I know it like the back of my hand, but my eyes still see a great nothingness. As far as they are concerned, there is nothing and there will always be nothing. I am alone. Trapped.
I try to distract myself and think on happier times. In vain.
Fantasizing will do me no good. The black remains.
I don't have much to add to this one. I like it. Maybe you like it, too.