DRAFT N0: 3
"SPIRIT OF FEAR... DO NOT DESPAIR"
Dear no one...
Dragging my spirit across the walls of this caverned prison of my psyche is death at its utmost.
Bone-chilling traumatic flashbacks pulse through my bruise-black veins and seep like poison into my central nervous system.
What I hated like no other was that I could never serve justice with words alone or exemplify in any form to anyone what I had tasted for all of my life existence.
Only one word quivered in my soon-to-be-deceased mind- "TORMENT". Undying suffering was wrapped around my past, present and future like bandages to a rotting mummy's body.
Never before in my life had I been so staggered. Ever. I'd wanted to run away that day, as fast as my broken legs could carry me. I was so weak and vulnerable at that second- like a paper doll, just waiting anxiously to be ripped apart and torn to shreds. To be abandoned and left alone in isolation; to burn.
Willingly, I would have forsaken this hopeless life, and let cursed memories of lost innocence and purity fade away like dust, and rot away like a stenching carcass.
All I can whisper to you now is that the world I live in, suffocating in my own thoughts endangered identity, is the perfect graveyard of buried hopes and dreams.
I am the prey, and the darkness of the night is the predator- blocking me, dividing good and evil, shielding me from all light- all hope.
There's never been a day where there's not been the Palm of the Hand of Death engulfing me in its defeat. There has never been what I would define as 'day'- only night. Those "days" are long dead and gone now, withering in my past like a wilting flower that once flourished.
This darkness around me, this night I can't escape encloses my mentality like a clenched fist, ready to pummel my brain to death.
"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH", the pain, it seeps through me like venom, tormenting me like a prick of a pin to a freshly mutilated gash.
Please don't make me use the gleaming knife in the corner, staring back at me with its piercing tip, that fine point mouthing to me, "oh come on- you know you want to" Oh, how that blade beckons me to blackout this life I'm living, to end things once and for all.
Is this farewell, for ONCE and for ALL?
The after-whisper:
She stabs herself silently, mouthing silent moans and whimpers, as gold blood oozes from her heart, she stops breathing, paralyzed and frozen in time.
Her spirit caught only a tiny glimpse of ecstasy and tranquil serenity in heaven for a split second- but as her timid hand reached out to tenderly touch the LORD'S face, thundering darkness raged in, and the angel of death snatched her spirit of life to his Dungeons of Despair.
It is finished.
I am finished.
