a poetry based vignette of a hellscape.
swinging doors and a deafening thud.
storms in teacups, the kettle screams,
sadness erupts, the crooks eyes gleam.
The rain hurts, the ground has sprouts fingers,
this is my hellscape where the pain seems to linger.
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 the entire world falls.
this is a world 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.