My sobs are always quiet, nearlly silent, as if they are no more than whispers which fill the air. Perhaps these tears of mine are meaningless as I am no one of importance, no one with a path. What I consider to be Hell is what I consider to be my life, having to wake up so miserable each day is straining and I long for the the moment in which I do not need to wake. Yet somehow I make it through the day simply because of the fear of change to something I’ve come to experience everyday. Yet everytime I take the worthless minutes of my time to write it always ends with death and I know it shows what I long for most in life. Let us stray from a character death this time and lets take the time to think about death. Is death when your body runs cold and nothing more than a corpse, or is it when everyone forgets of your existence? If it is the second option then I fear I will not have to waif long for death to transpire. Even if it is the first option the answer remains the same. For am I no more than a weeping soul trapped within the confines of a disgusting cage? I suppose I will remain trapped longer yet I know that the day for freedom approaches. May it soon or far, the day of darkness rushes towards me. All I can do is hope to last for as long as I can before I loose all determination.
