My screams go unheard, in the corridors of this hell;
I switch from docile to hostile, for I am a worn shell.
She can rip me apart at the seams, like stitches coming loose,
This cold hell can not be more welcoming than a noose.
Her words render me alert, they ring a bell,
Somehow she still maintains this evil spell.
Even when there is peace, it comes not at a truce,
But manifests from desired words that are deduced.
Sinking into the darkness of one's own mind,
Is both troubling and comforting I find.
For although I am horrified by my own thoughts,
Anger through this is easily bought.
When I have anger, I become resilient;
It's an ember burning deep in me, brilliant.
This fire which burns terribly hot,
Is something I have wholly sought.
