A Portrait of your Inner Self

Quite often you find yourself locked within the darkness of your room. The music blasting, papers thrown to the side, a diary discarded and thrown to the side; illegible scribbles etched upon its pages. The air thick with incense. The curtains and blinds drawn tightly shut. From the corner creeps a prickly vine. Crimson roses slowly exposing themselves merely to wilt and fade away, replaced my blade-like thorns. Within the depths of your being do these vines creep, constricting, tearing, and holding fast at happier and lighter thoughts. A look inside your soul would show that of a tormented being. Overwhelming grief and emotional torment trap you within the inky tar pits of depression. Your wings are torn and tattered. They, along with the rest of you, have begun to fade. Slowly the darkness is winning you over, beckoning you deeper and deeper into its grasp. Don't let it win. Don't let it consume you whole. You'll find a way to free yourself from its grasp, just remember not to give up. Less you wish the dreary fate of the red soaked reaper.

A Portrait of your Inner Self.

That's annoyingly accurate, if you ignore the environment description.