The curtain of self-inflicted demise,
unfurls behind my eyes, a silent play.
What horrors lie beyond its velvet lies?
A morbid peace, or endless, hollow gray?
No bows, no cheers, just sterile, flickering light.
The curtain calls for madness on this endless night.

The asylum loomed, a gothic monolith, its windows veiled in grime,
A constant hum of voices, both muffled and shrill, seeped through the lime-washed walls.
Edward, with a tremor in his hand, clutched the worn admission papers,
His gaze fell upon the iron gate, its inscription a...