In the light of day
the place feels serene.
Comforting.
Clean.
Feels safe.
But when the
lights go out
it's a different story.
Things get gory.
Blood splatter, brain matter
pitter patter down the walls,
like rain as it gently falls.
The screams.
The endless agonising bad dreams.
Tell tales steeped in memory,
soaked into yellow tinged skin,
liver rotten from years of drinking.
Wetware unaware
that there is a virus in his internal hardware.
Too focused on finding his prizes,
giving in to his vices.
Crimson viscous liquid
pours out of the open wound.
Self-inflicted, prophecy come true.
Turning blue like a being from avatar,
stuck here in this human abattoir.
Carcass on display.
Hooked up to machines that beep all day.
Prodded and picked,
feels like a stone that has been kicked.
Needles stuck in arterial vein,
like insects trying to suck any blood that remains,
as images flash through his brain.
Scars like a roadmap,
cover the tissue, front and back.
Decomposed.
Flesh drops
from bone.
You'd have to have a heart of stone
to look upon this room
and claim your throne
and there he sits.
His chest filled with grit,
the owner of this pit,
the mirror image flipped.
Thanks for reading
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