This is but my second entry, though several days have past. I am sure of it.

I’ve begun to grow increasingly tired of my neighbor nuisance. My death threats and growlings do nothing for the fucking piss-drinker, I think he finds amusement in my growing want to beat the ever-living zany from his eternally flapping mouth. But at least there is the sound, there is that. What madness would have took me long ago if not for his blabber calls to the demons that haunt his cell.

The Clinkers do not take kindly to this, of course. They beat him within inch of his life, perhaps daily, if I had that concept of days. He cackles, I hear the gurglings of the spit and blood, and teeth in his throat. He sounds of some crow, saying it’s last words upon it’s deathbed. But he’s forever dying, and never fucking dead.

I have nothing to report. I am so tightly sealed off from the outside that I am truly beginning to feel the claws of the Hole – the “Deep”. I remember learning this term long ago, while I spent time in Wolftspone. They talked of how the feeling of the old real world, begins to fade into this idea of illusion, and that all there has ever really been is but the cold box, and now reality – the lie reality – takes shape. They describe it like being underwater, though they were already far gone by the time this description emerged. You become swamped, submerged in this continued thought, and then you really learn what madness is.

I feel it. I am beginning to think all I remember might be a lie, and that I have always been here. In this cell.

I must write this so to tell myself that this is not true. I shall escape.

I shall escape. I must.

Rov