I have told this story somewhere else an eternity ago; a place where I speak a language that is dead to all others. And when I realized that it would never reach the eyes or ears of those who would truly see it for what it was, I left a barren wasteland filled with aeclectic trash despite a few rare souls who made an attempt to understand.

In serving confines imposed by the masses, they cannot afford to lose their masks for fear of persecution yet they become naked like wolves howling to the moon.

For how can the sane really understand insanity unless they searched within themselves to uncover their own madness that is cleverly disguised by social conformity? How does one understand Depression unless one has opened the door to it only to find it an unwelcome guest who refuses to leave?

But let me tell you, that it was Depression that first introduced me to my demons in a place called Jahanam. It was here that my demons first spoke to me about good and evil; of how they are the same notion twisted by man's skewed perception.

Before my eyes, demons became angels and back again; brothers and enemies; friends and foe in a span of a heartbeat. I swear upon my soul I have seen them bicker endlessly over duties and boundaries; the way corporate leaches nitpick over policies imposed by the same Boss.

The rules were, are and will always remain simple yet paradoxical because balance has to exist; only the ones carrying out orders cannot agree upon how it ought to be done. It was through the gates of Jahanam that I first stumbled upon a place where the damned roam free.

It was here that later brought me to the Prophets who would show me the many unhibited faces of madness. Consider this a prelude to a deeper, darker dungeon of the inner self.