Within me lurks the brooding shadow.
He is a moody ghost, sometimes morose, sometimes fevered.
Sometimes he has to live with such abandon that he cannot be contained within the confines of my physical being, but must scream out with words to see if the world out there is listening.
Sometimes he explores the sweet peace of being no more, wanting to draw us both beneath that warm blanket of black velvet. He most cries with sad whimpers and pleading whispers.
The brooding shadow, so tormented in his soul, is the relentless searcher for words to give voice to mysterious comings and goings. He keeps looking for the words that can share his tears and joys with others, so that he does not agonize with the loneliness, alone.
Yes, that is the essence of the brooding shadow. He is lonely, lonely for those who somehow know his ways.