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My Personal Hell

My Personal Hell

A translation to my inner pain.

When you ask someone what Hell is like,

They tell you the typical envisionment

Below the earth's surface, alight with flame,

Souls tortutured day in, day out

But me?

Hell is not lit by fires of torture,

Nobody is there with you

You are alone with your own thoughts; your personal Hell

You die a little inside every day, almost every passing minute

The Devil is your heart

Your screams of agony are kept within,

Your rib cage has become metal bars

Your skeleton is nothing but a puppet put to work by your mind,

The muscles are your leather restraints

The mental scars are nothing but the outside world penetrating your haven

Even your heart is just an instrument of destruction

Remember those times you've frozen from sudden emotional pain?

Or those times your heart felt like it shattered into a million pieces?

No.. Maybe not. But I remember

Because Hell likes to torture you, even if it's not open with it

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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