This Is My Hell

This is my hell,

not fire nor frost,

it's neither this nor that,

it just is,some of it and all that.

It is all my fears and wishes,

my anxiety my angst.

it is my days of empty loathing of self,

and the constantly being sad.

Just being is my hell and breathing burned,

all that was inside, to ash it turned.

Just doing is my fear,

and not doing right, is another,

that tells me I'll never be good as the other.

All in my hell is not bad or worst,

there's comfort in sorrow, a blanket of sorts.

And fear is only but a reason to do,to say to myself,this you can do.

My fear is my drive, no major reward, to survive I do this,existence is my god,

I want no gold no praise to achieve, uninspired though now you may perceive.

I do this not for the world to see,

I just do this to breathe freely,

I do this not for my spite for life,

life I adore,it's the fear that I despise

This is my hell on paper now,

I hope not it burns with the my words I write,

I pray these words be hope somehow,

for thy hell, where thee reside.