In the cellar where my sanity should be, there's chipped stone walls enclosing the life I had
My smooth skin scratches up against the rigid corners of the wall.
I can't tell if I blinked of not; darkness has finally engulfed my soul.
My hair gets caught in the cracks that mark up the walls, sometimes getting ripped out.
I walk in circles, dragging my feet against the cold cement floor.
"Shhhh" they say, and I obey. I never call out for help or some one to save me and hold me close. If I do, I begin to choke on the lack of oxygen in this prison. The charcoal is beginning to stick to the walls of my lungs, the way my perspiration is beginning to stick to these ragged clothes I wear.
The demons in the dark slowly press their thumbs deeper into my throat with every breath. I put my hands on the wall to feel for an escape door, which I haven't found since the day I broke. It's like the walls symbolize my heart; cracked, destroyed, and useless. I should've learned from the last tiem, because if I ever get out of this abyss, I will have comprehended my life's lesson.