Go away. Get away. Get away from me. These demons that I fight keep screaming back at me. These skeletons in my closet keep screaming back at me, they keep torturing. And these voices in my head will not leave me alone, leave me alone. I will not die alone in this room, cause the hole in the middle keeps growing bigger and bigger. And I see the faces staring back at me. I see them contorting. So I fight with my eyes closed, afraid to see what awaits me at the bottom of this deep, black hole. Where are you? When the knife is at my throat. Where are you? When the knife is at my throat? Where are you? God, where are you? What will become of me? What will become of me? I guess I’ll never know. What will become of me? Doubt. Fear. Desolation.