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Fire and brimstone are nothing compared,
To the hell that I see, that I live, that I am.
You see, Hell is not a place where the ****** are condemned,
But a place in my head where Regret is the king.
It's a place where everything I wish I could've taken back,
Is played over and over and over again.
Torturing me and who I want to be,
With the image of who I was in the past.
Regret is the king, but Satan is me.
I am the accused, the shamed, the opposer.
The struggle is defining who I am today,
In the midst of the memories that I refuse to believe.
Demons are the memories that haunt me.
Beckoning me with false justification.
Chastising me with the whip of ignorance.
Killing me with the truth of my actions.
Hell is not the domain of evil.
Hell is not the source of all wrong.
Hell is a place inside of our heads.
Where we refuse to go and never want to be.
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