I am steeped, steeped in rot and disease. Laid amongst the bones of my defeat. Weak, clinging on with mucid skin, hoping soon the walls will cave me in. You retch, so as to purge, but it fails to end this wretched curse. How many more times will I wake up only to wish my
sleep would never end? Lost, stumbling toward an open grave, hands still clutching to the spade. You retch, so as to purge, but it fails to end this wretched fucking curse. There is no shelter ͚til every shred of hope is ripped from the sinews. I͛'m done for. You retch, so as to purge, but it fails to end this wretched fucking curse. Retch, so as to purge.

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