I admire using rhymes to explain things, so here we go again with poetry. Use your imagination and the description will hopefully make sense.

Ambiguous in nature and not very tall,
it's feathery presence is unfit and hell for us all.

Living in it's shacked and broken society,
death never heals neither pain nor anxiety.

A disorientated brain and a self preserved soul,
living a life indoors is one way to keep control.

The constant day to day splinters and restless chilling nights,
you would imagine hate for one another but there are never any fights.

For life in this place isn't all pain and despair,
there is plenty of hope for those who can share.

Sure death in this place may be non existent,
though the question for this however is still very persistent.

The others have accepted this fate and chose not to ask why,
but Pashmenia's frustrations however result in trying to die.

Many years have passed while this behavior would still continue,
Pash's desire for self-bloodlust has written it's sanity on the menu.

Pash is the one that stands from the crowd,
remorseful and shy and not at all proud.

Confusion may take over and some blood may be shed,
believe me when I say that no forgiveness goes unsaid.

"Please talk to me and acknowledge that I'm here.",
but to others the heartfelt words are taken in fear.

To a soul that's neglected, forgotten and unwanted,
the mind can only see fit that it's presence is being taunted.

With the blessings I've been given whether or not they're hope driven,
my hopes to leave this wretched realm are blocked by my holy ribbon.

My efforts to break flesh always leave me in pain,
they make me an outcast and leave nothing to gain.

Decade after centenary I sit in this house and wait,
praying that God hasn't forgotten me and will finally decide my fate.

If the others tried to help me then maybe I'd feel no shame,
but until that day decides to come I will remain to be insane.

-Take this as you will.