“Wrapped in death’s garment,” I adroitly wrote on a crumpled piece of paper. Shrouded in darkness and fear, am I the only fool that bleeds in this cold but empty room? Desolated in my mind but not empty, owing to the fact that I am in it. Yet, I don’t consider myself as something that lives anymore. I am an apparition while being called human. The feeling of a human being is what I so despise. However, being called a human is what makes me even more lonely, and this is the only way I can accept the reality of what a human really is. Knowing this, makes me want to disappear for good. I want to be wrapped in death’s garment.