Wretched hell, come take me to your home as my place here holds no comfort lest be it I shall return to by my own accord. When the skies darkens and the sun shall fall from the perch of it's loft, then the wisps of cool, cool air will embrace me like one who has known me for so long. Along the barren and distant dusty ground, the steps tred upon it bear no print, nor company, and only a singular path into a place called loneliness.

Who can survive this place, of fire and brimstone, the souls shrieking around, but yet not a single word of comprehendible solstice, the voices rambling on within without sound, but only heartfelt blows, thumping upon the cage of bone that protects myself within.

When you can not help but questions yourself, of why you are here, where can you go, and if you would ever escape unscarred, undamaged from this private show of destruction and waste laid before you.

But then, the most terrifying thing to bear, when the dias is uncovered, and the lord of the domain that sits upon the chair who reigns over this wroth done world, is no-one but the mirror of yourself.

Saviours, clean and pure, sleep peacefully across the way, but the wall of invisible, ineviatable chasm of unknown depth and width bar the way across. Bridges seem to cross, but on approach, their ropes wither and burn, as if the touch from ones self is the catalyst of their impended doom.

However, floating up above, an offer, a step, dangling from above. Is this just another trick, another path of the same, and would lead not up and out, but a delayed fall into the below. For then, to escape from ones self, what is there to do.

Take a leap, and fall if the distance is too great to make, take the offered leap of faith, but then to watch as if the string attached too will burn away to ashes, and then the decent past the edge that was not attempted to be lept to, or, to sit on this edge and watch them until the end of eternity.

However, there is another option, to take control and although death is there, stare it in the face, and jump down, all the time, staring defiantly at the lord of this domain, in knowing that he has truely lost as though it mattered to him.