Dire Sanctum
In the mind there is a dire sanctum where both malevolence and horror reign. Several shadows are cast on the blood stained walls by the flicker of flame. Numerous, violent acts of torture and agony fill its dreaded halls with a cacophony of screeches and screams. Hope does not exist there. But that sanctum remains hidden, lurking in the farthest infinite depths of peoples minds.
I see them quivering,
rouge skin, laden with
thousands of small goose bumps.
Naked, lying in a pile,
crying out in the desire to
suckle on their mothers breast.
One begins to crawl away,
honing in, I choose it to be the first.
Grabbing the miniature person by
its two legs, I dangle it in front of me.
It peers into my eyes, confused,
yet begins to giggle at the single
feeling of reversed gravity.
Strengthening my grip,
I begin to spin in circles,
one after another,
faster and faster.
I peer down to what I hold
in my two hands,
a gradient of white to deep purple,
toe to head. I let go.
Spiraling end over end,
a wild tangent, it hits the wall,
breaking like muffled shattering glass.
Crimson splotches spray violently
outwards from the solitary impact,
painting the region of void,
gray cinder blocks.
The crumpled pink mass
lay on the floor, twitching thrice,
shuddering as if it were still cold.
I heave the mass into the furnace,
tomb of its many brothers and sisters.
Liquid and flesh bubbles multiply,
charring and blackening into ash.
I gaze back to the pile of movements,
there are too many,
my work will never be done.
I will free them,
every single one.
I see them quivering,
rouge skin, laden with
thousands of small goose bumps.
Naked, lying in a pile,
crying out in the desire to
suckle on their mothers breast.
One begins to crawl away,
honing in, I choose it to be the first.
Grabbing the miniature person by
its two legs, I dangle it in front of me.
It peers into my eyes, confused,
yet begins to giggle at the single
feeling of reversed gravity.
Strengthening my grip,
I begin to spin in circles,
one after another,
faster and faster.
I peer down to what I hold
in my two hands,
a gradient of white to deep purple,
toe to head. I let go.
Spiraling end over end,
a wild tangent, it hits the wall,
breaking like muffled shattering glass.
Crimson splotches spray violently
outwards from the solitary impact,
painting the region of void,
gray cinder blocks.
The crumpled pink mass
lay on the floor, twitching thrice,
shuddering as if it were still cold.
I heave the mass into the furnace,
tomb of its many brothers and sisters.
Liquid and flesh bubbles multiply,
charring and blackening into ash.
I gaze back to the pile of movements,
there are too many,
my work will never be done.
I will free them,
every single one.