A Tortured Existence

Drip! Drip!

The sound of rain flushing another tormented soul into the freedom of death.

A whip makes its tortured crack, as lacerations, so plentiful, scar my back. A small stream of blood trickles down my spine and land softly in a puddle of Hell. For Satan has reached up and torn my soul and shredded it.

Forgive me. Forgive me. I beg of you. Please do not damn me for I meant you no insult. Forgive me and I shall taketh my own existence and offer it unto you. Please do not twist me into the tortuous existence that you lead.

I stand alone in the sorrowful drownings of life. The solitude I feel has far greater pain than anything physical could ever be. A single tear runs down my face. What have I done to be so different and alone? Where did my happiness split from its friendly surroundings and journey to the darkest corners of my rotting soul?

I hope someone can save me before it is too late…

I look up and in the furthest from vision is the smallest of light. Is it hope? Is that what hope is? A light so far away that all perceptions of reality would indicate its impossible reach. No. not today. Today death has won. Her ice cold talons thrusting into my flesh and tearing. Retrieving with agonising precision, the part inside which gave up. Then silence. Only me again… Always only me.

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