Bland poem that probably nobody wants to read

Here it is

Every day feels like a monotonous page
Every day, it feels like color leaves the page, leaving behind a dull smudge
People are starting to gain a black blur of a stain on their faces
Draining their color and tones to where they vanish
People are just gray shapes
Some are darker and some are lighter
But there's nearly no contrast

The walls are all the same tone
The floor barely contradicts aside from texture
The lights don't affect the tones
The shadows overwhelm the light and inhale it like the air around it
The shadows murmur lethally poisonous things to the light
The shadows chitter in acidic voices, the words sapping the energy from the light
The static, however, has kept the light in place for a long time

The white noise of the static prevents the light from hearing these oftentimes murderous quips
The static is everywhere
On the intercoms
In the halls
In your head
It never leaves, until you leave the presence of the shadows

But no matter how hard the static tries to comfort the light from the shadows, they still seep in through the cracks
The shadows follow the light no matter where it is

Don't let go of your grasp, you can escape the shadows. It won't take much.
You can hide from them as long as there is no light nearby. Stay low, you can make it.