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Falling, falling, further and further down,

Down into the eternal darkness, where my soul shall remain forever more.

Why do I fight it?

It does me no good.

It is as though I’m being slowly and painfully tortured,

As if I’m in a dark prison cell where I’m starved nearly to death,

Only to be forcibly fed just enough to allow me to survive,

Dehydrated to the point of death by thirst,

Only to have just enough water forced down my throat so that I survive,

Constantly teasing my desire of death and bringing me so close only to laugh in my face.

My flesh burns,

Yet I see no fire.

It must be the black fire,

The one in which fuels my heart and soul.

I close my eyes.

Upon reopening them I realize that it is much worse than any of the previous tortures,

For it is life.

I feel deep within this fear,

It is the worst fear I could have,

It is a fear that keeps me alive.

I can not bring myself to attempt to take my life,

For the fear of how much worse life would get if I should survive overtakes me and forces me back.

Worst of all,

I find myself fighting not to take my inner conflicts out on my so called “friends”.

I say friends in this manner for I am unsure whom I can and can not trust.

This worries me greatly.

My goal has always been to help those I’ve grown fond of in any way I can,

Now I worry that I may become the problem rather than the one that can help to find the solution as I have in the past.

Again I find myself fighting to keep everything to myself,

I do not wish to bother others with my problems.

I suppose I’ll just have to keep it all in until it drives me insane,

For then, and only then, will nothing matter any longer.