What is it that we can imagine, for what can not be seen and told until after death must be created as a vision in our minds. In my hell, nothing but lonesome surrounds the endless plains that hold no wind nor sound. My hell is solitude. Suffrage is certain within the confines of an empty mind. Hell is quiet, yet flaunts the boundless threat of booming fear. I am surrounded in the insecurities that prove to be my only company. My Achilles heel is bipolar disorder, yet also my greatest motivator. This thrusts my body and mind forever forward. I will not fall to hell. This is my life.