#Dark_Art

When an author writes a dark literature, possibly about DEATH. it excites him. Not by the mere fact that he’s more attracted to the DARK, but because how well he paints its picture. It ignites. How he brings to DEATH life fascinates. how he gives a faceless torment a face. He is all aware of the attributes that makes it lethal. Yet, whence, DEATH comes Knocking at the writer’s door, he does well to welcome him in. Thinking that it would be one of those ONE on ONE talks. But the visitor has no face. His breath coexists like a gush of wind that rips apart the soul that it dares to kiss. The writer pulls out his notebook and a pen. Ready to jot the other side of the story that nobody knows. To bring light of the dark. Yet, he notices that his visitor is unsettled. The visitor looks around searching for anything to steal, but he is blind, he doesn’t see what he seeks. Then leaves without saying a word. Till the writer realizes that a part of him has vanquished with the visitor. Sorrowed, on his notebook with his pen, he writes a visit with the dark. Stole his part, left him vast and empty.