Yells, and
I stand
To speak
Not meek
Nor weak

Knowing not
What to say,
Temper hot
On display,
Hopes to make
Others break,
Sounding fake
My words stray.

The murmurs rise
(So I subside,)
Deflate the size
Of failing pride,
And take my sound
To the profound
Depths of the ground
Where hells reside.

Passing through torture,
I remain standing
To feel the puncture
Of voices stabbing
Right into my soul.
It becomes a hole,
Black, darker than coal,
No light escaping.

However, I still hear
The demons' cackles bite,
Their curses coming near
In the impending night.
How the darkness revels
While the sound of devils
Deforms and dishevels
With demonic delight.

Soon the voices all are blocked,
All the pain has gone away,
And the one who had been mocked
Stays in the inside to pray.
Prayers become images then
Of lost dreams found once again.
Almost like a true heaven,
Its serenity to stay.

Reality prepares to go.
All senses dull, anesthetized
Sense the absent pleasantries though,
Even from those who criticized.
They eventually leave as well.
Since not any beast, tame or fell,
Will be able to, by strength, quell
This state of being, canonized.

And throughout this sole, temperate existence,
The mind wanders over sea and terrain
In a world with an unceasing cadence
Of happiness and peace, not of disdain.
A surreal calm can be seen in the eyes.
Not one winks or quivers or even cries.
Consciousness slows, falters, rattles, and dies.
With it go remnants of unwanted pain.

Finally, the dust has settled.
The pupil now looks up above
To see its mind maimed and nettled
But at rest, nothing to think of.
Pigments flash and begin to fade
In the place, where once, dreams were made.
Then softly, not like a tirade,
The dust is disturbed by a dove.

The senses reel and fly high
Reawakened by the breeze
Caused by a bird in the sky.
It flutters among the trees
Blossoming with a sweet scent.
The bird then makes an ascent,
Its notes and flight all but spent.
At last the dust makes me sneeze.

The euphoria fails
And the burning returns,
A vivid image pales
For which compassion yearns.
And, as I plainly see,
Satan dances with glee
After capturing me.
My complacency burns.

Hate courses through me.
I struggle to breathe
As voices I see
Cause torment and seethe.
It's time to fight back,
To mangle and hack,
Their insults I'll crack.
Flames 'round them will wreathe.

The babble dies.
I stand up straight.
Now my voice cries,
"I won't abate!"
Confidence grows.
Enemy slows.
With waxing prose
I can, will state:

You've hurt me!
Devoured me!
Yet you'll fear,
Still, I'm here!
You won't hear

Sets in.
Will it
Just then
And when
I win?