Sores of the Sarcophagus.
Nails etch in a mind uncouth,
Callously ignore advice for the youth.
"Do not visit ivied Sarcopha good lad,
or visit dead streets about leaking sores".
The lesson ignored, venturing to explore
I step and I creep,
Sweeping ill vines from their sleep.
A forgone conclusion, a sore so deep,
Witness to terrors that leave me to weep,
For lost Sarcopha.
As shadows do fall, A teror does rise.
All flesh too seared to describe,
A gag reflex, I choke and reveal;
Formless devils crawl to unpeel.
Shadows rape Sarcopha.
If only you knew, 5 bullets let loose,
And left me to sleep, the last is my noose.
Buried beneath Sarcopha.