Black is the great vastness of space,
The emptiness you feel when you realize, your life is over.
It is the fear and terror in your eyes,
At the moment of death.
Black is an eerie night full of mist,
And strangers walking the streets.
It is the unknown,
And the mysterious killer, searching for his prey.
Black is a crazed stalker, peering through a window,
And an assassin aiming for his mark.
It is the knowledge that aliens visit Earth,
Or the concept that, in this universe, we are truly alone.
Black is the governments,
Their lies and fabricated truths,
Official cover-ups and matters of national security,
And secrets.
Black is the depths of our minds,
The wickedness of our thoughts.
It is our conscious and subconscious.
It is our memory.
Black is the cynicism of our world,
The skeptics and the believers.
It is paranoia,
And it is defeat.
Black is sickness,
Death and pain,
And the mutations science creates.
It is evil, selfish, and hateful.
Black is the workings and wanderings of our perverted minds,
The hunger in our souls for what is real.
It is revenge and anger,
War and weapons.
Black is intrigue, curiosity, and trouble.
It is all around us, consuming, devouring,
Eating away the thin fiber of our sanity.
It surrounds us and we cannot escape it.
Black is our world.
Black is or existence.
Black is us.
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