I can feel myself decaying as we speak. My heart rots first, for it is the most vulnerable of all the organs.
What shall I do, dear young one? For my eyes are becoming more and more blinded by the throbs within myself.
It echoes within this hull, "My peace is not at rest. My mind is not at ease, and my soul is interrupted by this anxiety of where I'm going wrong."
Help me as I'm crying out, because I'm numbing my senses to the stifled pain.
I need you, I need you, I need you.
To step in.