The quite susurrus clouding the room. Fear, inability to turn around. Chained and rattled from the soon to become. Futile grappling to which i am damned to. Look around, seek, and find nothing around. It is my prison of solitude now. Seek with blinded eyes for false, lying hope. Cling to impossibilities, try to seek footing in my cluttered, confused mind. Attempt inanely to please her, my god. Mania echos from the silent room, battling the delusion of free will, as there is no such thing for me here. Whisper, whispers eek from the narrow walls! Touch the fire, be mauled by a stinging blade. Seek forgiveness in death, freedom from life. Pain will cease, and the thoughts will vanish, too. Take the chance, or be damned for years to come. It will only trouble me for a bit.