The internal turmoil burns, like hellfire.
Is this eternity in damnation? To claw towards what you wanted but did not earn; to watch the very thing you wanted turn from you, as if it did not know you?
How you scream until your throat is raw, even when your lungs and throat can no longer produce a sound. Guttural cries drowned out by the darkness, gnawing at your humanity.
Silence is thick; viscous. But the thoughts are still loud. The wounds are fresh and eternal; why would they ever leave?
I long to forget. Please, God. Let me forget him.
-begonia














