A/N: I know it's been done, Dean's thoughts about his time in hell. But hopefully this is a different form and a little bit of a different take. It's just something that came to me at work, oh the places your thoughts roam when you're extremely bored, and feeling just a bit dark. It can be read as a poem or a song. If anyone has any idea of music that this would fit, let me know! Anyhow, enjoy.

Forty Years

I'm locked in Hell inside my head

Seems to me, skin crawling with dread.

Black skies and growling dogs

Tearing at my feet, sinking in a bog.

Pulling me down, into the pit

Chained to the rack, body taking the hit.

Stretched to breaking, tears streaming from my eyes

He leans over, holds my heart like a prize.

Laughter echoes in the dark

Pulsing black, nothing else so stark.

Blood flows from my very pores

As he laughs and rends me to my core.

At the end of each day he asks

And every day I struggle to hang onto my mask.

The things he does, too vast to remember

Yet he delights as he maims and dismembers.

He asks again and still I deny

As the blade plunges deep I no longer cry.

Too hoarse to speak, my mouth still forms one word

He cuts my throat before it's heard.

I gurgle, bleed, and gasp

As again and again he asks.

Thirty years when I first fail

And promises kept, he grants my bail.

Ten years I'm behind the knife

Not caring who or why as I cause strife.

Scarring and maiming, tearing souls apart

Darkness consumes me, eats away at my heart.

A part of me blackens and withers away

My soul dying a little more each day.

I hack and I carve, a grand design

The picture forming in my mind.

I make no sounds, say no words

Just cut and slice, cries are all that's heard.

My pattern's carved, my prey broken

And as I look over my work I realize my heart's still spoken.

Over once white flesh, runs crimson rivers

And as I stare down, my soul shivers.

A word rent on breathing canvas in deepest red

I take a step back and hang my head.

Chaos reigns above me, white light streaming through the fire

I'm grabbed from behind, lifted higher and higher.

I wake and it's dark, small and tight

I yell for help, finally pushing into the light.

I get my bearings and begin to walk, sun burning hot in the sky

I see a newspaper, think that the date is a lie.

I find my family, fight to make them see

That after forty years, that I'm still me.

A/N: This finishes off this weird little trip for me. I want to know what you all think since this is the last time I'm adding to this, and I'm 99% sure this is the last poem I'll ever write that I won't immediately salt and burn. If you're reading Tomb of the Broken: I'm finishing it and then walking away to work on something different for a while. Catch you all another time.