A dam brimming with tears, awaiting salvation.
A shaver running against one’s eyes, dripping crimson.
A sharpened hook slices the tongue; speech suspended.

The torment of being blinded and silenced,
While hearing the wails of inmates echoing off the cold concrete.
Back within the asylum… the place I fear.

Nobody notices that I’m no longer here.
My impetus of hope now gone, what more is there to live for?

Logen