Hell is not the burning, intense flame that scorches the eternal soul. Hell is not a frozen, barren tundra that freezes time and emotions. Hell is a place but it is nothing you could ever wish to experience. It is waking up in the morning to an empty room filled with loneliness It is staring at a ceiling that looks just as hopeless as it did the day before Hell is knowing that the pain of heartache has not faded and may never will. Hell is observing the world with no colors and living among the ashes Of shattered hopes and dreams that have been left forever forgotten. Hell is losing a friend very dear to you to the consuming death, losing faith And losing sight of the wonders and beauties of this now desolate Earth. With closed eyes and staggered breaths, with heartbreaking rhythms Hell is our fears, every anxiety and suspicion, every questioning thought, Hell is a place that we created with our own overwhelming emotions, It is what we make it seem to be; it is our imagination and our pain.
Hell is something you can never fully comprehend; it is not always real Hell is when it seems your life has hit rock bottom and there�s no way up It is living in denial of the pain you know is there, of living in fear of no escape. It is looking into the eyes of a lover and reading between the lines, nothing�s fair And nothing is what it ever seems, it is so surreal but so painful that sometimes It seems death is more welcome than Hell; it�s when you can go no further, When you�ve met your final road block, your final obstacle and you�ve given up. Hell is feeling the searing pain running its course through your veins, Living in constant agony and defeat; running towards soothing misery. Hell is the razor blade that dances across your delicate skin; it is your blood, The crimson that stains the white purity of your once innocent soul; Hell is your soul. You are your own Hell. Hell is the demon you have become. It is the life you live, the air you breathe, the excruciating pain that lingers Even after the scars have all faded and the words are no longer visible On the tattered and worn pages you used to write your soul upon The same empty pages you once wrote about what you thought Hell was.
