Loss

Loss of personality is a devastating experience akin to a dark, consuming depression. A chunk of your spirit atrophies and decays into a vicious torment. You are left with all the rotten, misery infested terrors, which you call your thoughts. And you'll always know that deep down inside you're untouchable, and deep down you've watched as the violent alterations ripped nature down in a whirlwind of mass desolation. Tearing you into a mangled, scarred ball of writhing puss, while you could only watch the mirrors burn down around you. Warming your hands for a time, the flame quickly flaring up and dying away, nothing can resurrect it, your flame has ended far beyond time. The flame of your soul, who you are in the heart of your hearts, is ripped away from you and torn to dust. If you light the fires early, they will be extinguished into the infinite nothing. Losing yourself is indescribable, words can never suffice for all the pain, loss, anger, and addictively poisonous melancholy. Regret for all your empty, golden flames. Wasted time is like a shooting star burnt out and hurled away into nothing's wake. You are stripped of yourself, like a snail from it's shell, and you are trapped in every foreign crack. You live in a hell, merely a dark fraction of a pitiful human being. A lonely feeling wrapped inside a body of grim misunderstandings and pointless interactions. When your hope melts into guilt, and you've lost the glint in your eyes, and spark on your face, it's the most awful and morbidly disturbing fear I have ever had.