In my field of screaming banshees,
storm clouds hang disturbingly over my skull,
an aura of shadows encase my frail body,
and steal parts of my soul to curse me.
The tree's around me stand grimly like gargoyles,
sharp eyes in every direction all on me,
this paranoia increases self consciousness,
deep hateful thoughts wait ready to destroy me.
These voices in my head plan to kill me,
i can't do nothing but plea at the puce walls,
they may not be able to hear my voiceless cries,
but i can hear their harsh words tearing me apart.