The sound of rain flushing another tormented soul into the freedom of death.
A whip makes its tortured crack, as lacerations, so plentiful, scar my back. A small stream of blood trickles down my spine and land softly in a puddle of Hell. For Satan has reached up and torn my soul and shredded it.
Forgive me. Forgive me. I beg of you. Please do not damn me for I meant you no insult. Forgive me and I shall taketh my own existence and offer it unto you. Please do not twist me into the torturous existence that you lead.
I stand alone in the sorrowful drownings of life. The solitude I feel has far greater pain than anything physical could ever be. A single tear runs down my face. What have I done to be so different and alone? Where did my happiness split from its friendly surroundings and journey to the darkest corners of my rotting soul?
I hope someone can save me before it is too late…
I look up and in the furthest from vision is the smallest of light. Is it hope? Is that what hope is? A light so far away that all perceptions of reality would indicate its impossible reach. No. not today. Today death has won. Her ice-cold talons thrusting into my flesh and tearing. Retrieving with agonising precision, the part inside which gave up. Then silence. Only me again… Always only me.