I can feel the darkness, beckoning me to jump,
Allowing it to envelop me in its cold winged, empty abyss.
A hollow, rigid weight pressing down upon my chest,
getting heavier and heavier, pushing me deeper to despair
until it crushes my lungs, allowing for no air to be gained.

I can feel the terror enticing me to play a game of Russian roulette.
Any minute now may be my last.
An empty coffin, surrounded by mourning faces of those that once turned their backs,
pleading that I had just spoken, but when I did they ran away,
telling me that the burden I have always carried, was mine to bare alone.

I can hear the last beckoning words of my once happy dreams,
'just hold on, it won't be this dark forever';
but then I remember that it is not the dark that I am afraid of, and maybe that is the problem.
I am afraid of the emptiness that unfurls before me,
leaving me alone to battel these faceless monsters that are too powerful to ever be beaten.

I can feel the cold, darkness enticing me to lie down and give in,
enveloping me in my last shred of sanity
before the darkness takes me up in it's hollowed out pity,
laughing in my face about the weak, feeble character I have become.
Broken and bruised by a world that could not see the damage it had caused a child;
offering only cold shoulders of the night to lay my head upon.