cell 105
At the edge of somewhere lies a dark place. A place I have been. A place that is as foreign as hell itself. I see no purpose in the containment of souls, death is easier. For death creates an ending. Containment creates a beginning. A beginning to the torturous end of life. Whereby suffocation begins slowly and ends with the end of emotion. Emotion is slowly cut out of our existence, until we no long breath in fresh air. We no longer see the sky which is only a mirror of our free existence.

When the door slams at night, we never sleep for we were never awake. We are merely trapped. Trapped behind these bars, predestined by a God who has no care in the world for our life. Where the hell is the living God who walks and breaths up on the earth. The second coming is only an illusion for the faint of heart.

Hell is merely an exit on stage left. Stage left merely a place in our minds. Their is no earth, their is no universe. Their is only cell number one o’five. Upon the ground lies the answer to our pain and our suffering. The cockaroaches crawl and make their home. They are free and yet we are suffocating behind these bars that are created to punish us. Torture has no enemy. Yet who will remember us when we have left nothing behind.

The greatest punishment in the world is the realization that we have left nothing behind and no one will remember us in a thousand years, or an hour.

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