Murdered emotions sink deeper into oblivion.  Held captive in a tortured husk of defeat.  Their
shadows wait patiently for my last fetid breath.  Then they may be released.  For suicide is
close to me.  A silken whisper that glides among my thoughts.  A tiny shard with backwards
barbs, which rip the soul upon trying to evict it.  A deceitful promise of forgiven slumber, within
a pool of blood.  A quiet idea upon which I sit.  Icy tears chafe the skin of a hollow shell.  
Leaving acrid scars, seen in my mirror.  My eyes behold my Hell.