April 11, 2011

Grime

Smooth cold stone,
my fingers slide so easily back and forth,
Why would you glorify a dungeon?
the tendrils feel so hot,
How could there be a pleasure in blood?
unspeakable unspeakable
dehumanizing pain,
empty obscene pit,
writhing on stone,
flayed like father's rare steak,
marinated with dirt,
ignored forever

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