Mentally, I can no longer reside in a space 

Which drags me towards the pit of hell. That space, etched beyond the compass of land, is hard to navigate or even grasp. I can no longer hold the resentment of self, the loathe of life,

Because I cannot grow out of this cynical mind

That's set out to drown me in fury. 

Mentally, I can no longer reside in a space

That suffocates my breath and captures my faint 

Memories of days of seething, putrid pain. That space, enveloped in receding rage of acid and humid, 

Damaged landscapes, holds me as bait to the saints who witness death. I can no longer dwell in the everlasting spell of Good Will, because I am not set out to fight anymore. Because I am not okay.