"What's on your mind?", they ask, But do they truly want to know? Are they testing me? Or are they trying to pry into my mind to see what is wrong, as they seem to intend? I'm not enough I'm falling apart I'm losing all that is me Why are they still here? Are my words too strange for those around me? Am I too impolite while I hide what's inside? "You seem annoyed," they tell me, But I'm just tired, I say Yes.. Tired Tired...

When you ask someone what Hell is like, They tell you the typical envisionment Below the earth's surface, alight with flame, Souls tortutured day in, day out But me? Hell is not lit by fires of torture, Nobody is there with you You are alone with your own thoughts; your personal Hell You die a little inside every day, almost every passing minute The Devil is your heart Your screams of agony are kept within, Your rib cage...