So there he sat. Consumed in the imaginary bubble he wrapped around himself to ease the pain. With his knees tucked hard under his fragile body and his hands covering his head, he sat shaking himself gently back and forth whilst humming uncontrollably in a language known to no man. The blackness came in waves that threatened to break through the bubble at any moment, shattering his world to pieces, flushing the knife closer to shore, closer to his hands. It was bleak, a gray tone most would recognize as black. Tainted even. Desperate he blocked out the world. The cries of unborn babies, the sharp sounds of gunshot that hadn't yet been fired and the last breaths taken by people not yet dead. Time went by as he sat there, waisting away. The decay of what his life had become staring him in the face. "Don't look." twilight becomes dark, the darkness starts to flutter, morning approaches. Weak and shaky he stands to his feet, he tries to escape the bubble but in vain. He is on the floor, crawling, begging. With the very last of hope, he leaps once more. He is free. He lies breathing heavily on the floor. He is safe. For now. Until tomorrow at twilight when his inner demons would return once more.
I found this in a document somewhere. I wrote it when I felt claustrophobic one day