I feel a murderous rage welling up inside of me. I feel the confinement of this angry being slip through the cracks of the glass mask I wear. The painted smile has faded, and a smear of dark circles illuminate through to others. I feel its cracks against my skin, and I feel a fire in my bones that may overpower me. Every night I imagine myself with the pretty necklace of death and every night the tear of my existence haunts me. I have become my own ghost. Trapped forever in this feeling that even if I pass it will always pass grief. And I wonder “what is life without me” it’s a selfish question. Those who love me will try to silence my outspoken death word, but they’ll never cease the constant battle in my mind. I know they don’t understand. Even if they deal with the demons themselves. Even I cannot communicate with others sadness.