I'm stuck in box with no windows. These walls lined with sandpaper and barbed wire, rubbing me raw and puncturing my exterior to bleed me dry in the countless attempts I make to break free from it's torturous clutches. With every breath I take, I'm just one more breath closer to the end. I am bad at best. The increasing volume and length of my nightmares are growing intolerable. I grow weak as the days grow short, dark, distant.----------------------------------------------------
-----------------------Laughter is just a vague recollection now as these abused lungs can barely accommodate the short repetitions needed to fill them with the stale atmosphere of this continuously shrinking cube. My only goal is to fight off the insanity for one more day. I struggle now to find the courage to carry on as the poison spreads from my chest to my mind. An unstoppable infection allied with that of the crippling realizations this battle has been lost. Shamed, violated and lame from their lies, I am a mortally wounded man with my fate now sealed, I grow weak as the seconds evolve into minutes and the minutes into the hours, dissolving away the days that are filled with defeat, despair, fear.-------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------As I lay here entombed in Pandora’s Box like a fallen soldier behind enemy lines, I am angered by the confusion that clouds my thought. What am I supposed to do? My face is in the mud, my eyes are half open, revealing the horror that my life has become. The battlefield is morbid and littered with disappointment disguised as bodies. Looking past these faces of death that stare back at me. The self-portrait becomes blurry as I focus on the horizontal horizon. Do I try to crawl out of here or should I scream for help? I interrupt my thoughts and ask myself, "am I in hell?" The sun has set and the night is cold, condemned, consuming.--------------------------------------------------
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alone. I'm wounded and poisoned for reasons unknown. Frozen with panic and an anxiety chill. I think I'll just rest here feeling terminally ill. The figure in the distance is picking pace. This stranger moving towards me I can't yet see his face. His movements are precise and efficient as if he were zeroed in on a target. He stops only feet from me, I obviously his destination. The end of one familiar journey and soon the beginning of another. Blanketed heavily by his shadow, intimidation, fright and mystery stand over me. Still uncertain of his identity I reach out to him and asked for his help. Eerie and slow to reply with no emotion his face remained grim. Stand Up I was ordered. His voice seemed to motion with the wind. Your days have ended and youre nights are no more. I am the Reaper. I will show you deaths door.-------------------------------------------------------
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