My soul has grown tired if this endless battle in which peace is a mere concept observed but not experienced. The pain I once found a comfortably agony has reached an intensity I can no longer bare with sane mind. The echoes of my screams now bounce of hollow walls and my mind is forever in a state of self-loathing. I caress the bumbs on my forehead, the marks of the loss of reason within the walls of my head and my hands tremble a quiet reminder of my limits. I found comfort in a concept beyond pain, death. More so the idea that I could bring myself this eternal peace whenever I desired it. I know of the many suffering beyond me that would occur, but an existence such as mine is not deserving of such a grief. My heart knows that I may never commit such an act but my soul ravels in the thought that I would. All I know is that the struggle will remain until I succumb to death or death succumbs to me. It depends what time it is, perhaps quarter-past nine.

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