Almost sempiternal, the corridors remain. Two walls, muffled screams of pain. A dim light, enough to witness the event. A trip to the hospital, not enough to make amends. Ceiling suffocating all I see. Frantic breathing as the shadow escapes me. 7 rounds, swift and bound. A pool of red is all that's found. From beyond these walls there's no light, It's the same unlighted abyss and holds the same plight. This is our sanctum, this is our place. No room for disgrace, where all demons are faced. Only thoughts escape, malicious dreams, suicidal fantasies. What is purity? it must be rare. There is no sincerity in this head. Just prospects of red that I failed to share.