He wears long sleaves at summers peak.
Dons a switchblade of two and half feet.
Here trods the boy who holds his head high.
Keeping his sanity till night is nigh.

The blood trickles down his muscular arms.
Oblivious is he, while the knife inflicts harm!
Dizzied and spinning in a tumult of terror.
Too late he finds his last cut was an error!

The carpets stained red from deep laceration.
He checked his cell phone, and filled with disposition
Not one person called for him that night.
It was a relived, animated, never ending blight.

A tunnel overtakes him, as he breathes his last.
A giant snake crushes his ribs and he thinks on his past.
He wonders how he got to be there.
In death he thought no more cares.

Suddenly the tunnel drained of  the crystal light.
He breifly forgot his caustropobia and blight.
Then the words were screched "welcome to Hell"
He found himself in damnation eternal.