“We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.”

-Stephen King

Bricks, bones, and bitter blood--

Assault the sense in a horrific flood.

Lost hope lies in rotting piles--

Huddled corpses seeped in putrid bile.

Limbs bound in rusted chains--

Tightened upon choking veins.

Tears spill in salted streams.

Walls echo with endless screams.

How many souls lie forgotten?

How many seek a bygone coffin?

Crumbling pieces of antediluvian antiquity,

Paint a portrait of corrupted nobility.

How could a place of strict science--

Now stand in such blatant defiance?

The mind holds endless secrets--

But, it must be pushed to its limits.

Let them call this senseless destruction.

Let them call this a madman’s dungeon.

The drills will continue to bore.

The halls will be littered with gore.

These mental marvels will be unlocked--

and I will not be stopped.

Who’s there?

There’s a knocking at the door-- can’t you hear it?

Crashing, smashing, and gnashing at the brittle wood.

How long can it hold?

There’s something in the walls-- can’t you see it?

Skittering, scraping, and scuttling just out of sight.

How long can you hide?

There’s a rumbling in the floor-- can’t you feel it?

Rattling, chattering, and clattering beneath your feet.

How long can you stand it?

There’s someone in the attic-- can’t you smell it?

Sweating, screaming, and shaking in the shadows.

How long can they last?

There’s blood in the air-- can’t you taste it?

Dancing, caressing, and kissing at your tongue.

How long have you craved it?

There’s a beast in your head-- and you know it.

Pawing, clawing, and gnawing at darkest desires.

How long before it wins?