The boy whom died alone.

A storm of epic proportions, rushes and tears around me making my mind scream out in confusion as its shredded by distortions. Then, taken into thought all it brings are physical contortion.

Welcome to my personal hell, To the inside of a shell, A place of no escape, a cell.

Welcome to the darkest prison of them all. Welcome to my mind, and its labyrinth of halls.

The fire and brimstone all around, don’t you see, the darkness that is ultimately me?

The small shinning of light, it really isn’t all that bright. It allows me to gaze, as though a flashlight might, giving me just enough sight, to realize I am falling, and lack the gift of flight.

Don’t you see, just enough light, to allow me to realize my plight.

Every way I look, I try to fight, but it is a truly incredible height, and the amount of will it would take leaves me dazed and in fright, so I will silently settle into that dark night. I don’t have the might left to struggle alone.

So now, here, I find myself in such a state and prone. As I realize my situation and the hopelessness begins to set in I let out a low moan. But its to late, and probably any chance I’ve ever had has been blown. Perhaps someone will make my story be known, the story of the boy whom died alone, his mind a rushing cyclone.

My falls and my faults, and what led to my fall, but that’s if anyone really saw. Or perhaps, if I am lucky, some one will stumble into this squall, and together we can escape without becoming enthralled.