Shattered Realities

He walked through the darkness.
He was clothed in a blackened sackcloth robe.
His hand shakily guarded a candle's starved flame against the cold, almost dead, wind, as he urgently tunneled his way through the veil of thick black fog.
His candle only illuminated the following step in front of him on the overgrown and buckling brick road.
He didn't look forward, for even with a glance, the cold darkness seemed to envelope his being, inescapably pulling him into a demented merry go round of torturous deliriums.
black, so black, that the most vicious of terrors emerged as his soul spiraled into the most sophisticated of nightmares.
Some would say you could even see the face of the abyss out there, with large sinister eyes, glazed and yellow, pulsing, aching to learn your deepest fears.
And more, that rumored vicious, bloody smile, salivating at the thought of devouring you.
He accidentally looked up too long, and felt decrepit shadow with its ever reaching dead, wet limbs.
His insides electrified as the mutated and mocking shapeshifter gaped it's eyes with swollen red veins, ready to burst.