Desolation, the endless expanse of ruined nothing sprawls before my feet. There is no visible harizon. No real light, no real darkness here. Only eternal twilight, the kind of empty brooding you find in nature as a storm gathers to ravage the land. There is no real heat, and no real cold. No real comfort. Everything is a hallow transparent shade of what it ought to be. Wine has no tangible flavour, food has no taste and is not filling. Lust can not be sated, forgivness never gained, and destruction never attained. This is eternal, this is my hell. Stuck forever in a meaningless existance, surround by insubstantial beings, the true hell is in my mind. The past is simultaniously my only comfort, and my source of suffering. The only things that are real is the blades in my belt, the chaos in my mind, and the hatered in my heart.

I walk across the terrace, of a gloomy building. it should look glorious, the marble should shine, the paintings should be vibrant. But it's just not. Everything I focus on loses substance. Everything I touch fades away.
There is a woman some where, or the specter of one. I try to find comfort in her voice, i try to cling to this presence, but it slips through my fingers, and disapears when I try harder.

Time has no rule here, it is never night, and never day. The past all looks like the present, and how can my future ever change ?
I drown in futility.
Then I try once more what I have done countless times. I walk back out side, the ground, if such it can be called, is hundreds of feet below. I grip the railing, and try to gaze into the distance. There is nothing to see, shapes, possibilitys, taunt me. But there is nothing there.
I jump. No air rushes past me, my heart beat does not quicken. when I hit the ground, nothing happens. I stay numb. I stand and look back at the building I have leapt from, but rather than go back I turn away.

Into my hell, into infinity. Nothing but waste and despair before me... At least I have left the past behind.