Note from the psych ward

I feel like I'm losing it, I can't hurt myself the way I want to in here. Instead, I feel parts of my soul burning in hell. I would rather feel the burn of my matches than the fires of hell below. The demons are smiling, they enjoy my torment, they know that they've done the worst. They are the ones who taught me to relentlessly torture myself. Does pain ever end? Even if it does its all for nothing. Hell is where there is no end, eternal suffering, a wasted sacrifice. I'll take my chances and hope this place isn't it. That's all I've got going for me. The hope of death. I hate the feeling of my soul being eaten away. But even despite the horrid smell of this rotting carcass, the demons eat it as if it were a feast. They're always hungry for more. Pain is all that's left of me, all I have left to grab onto. I've grieved my death in advance and all the pain it will cause.