a poetry based vignette of a hellscape.
|drying tears, drying blood,|
swinging doors and a deafening thud.
storms in teacups, the kettle screams,
sadness erupts, the crooks eyes gleam.
people smile with blank eyes,
the animals dying with whimpers and whines.
the houses are huts with muddy walls,
there is enough to make cities, but every wall falls.
this is a home of the stagnant few,
our world only move when it tries to hurt you.
The sugar is cyanide, the walls have ears,
they hear what you say, they know your every fear.
hands around ankles, iron grips,
you can't change and they can't slip.
crimson red skies with raining blood,
the doors all close with a deafening thud.