ThiNk of iT

Hell is a spot on top of a hill,

greener than grass,

swallow the pill.

Don't look fast,

That dark dark thrill,

of losing the one thing,

that you knew you could kill. 

Breathing only hurts,

when the voices disappear,

a room of things that lurk,

begging for that tear. 

Don't cry when they come,

They've only just begun,

The seize of the weak,

And a mind I seek.