This is the refuse of humanity;
huddled in these corners,
iron-chained and forgotten
souls. These slimy walls
reverberate with muffled echoes
that slip through iron bars, devoid
of white wings to carry
hope to a voiceless god. The
ceiling hovers like a heavy mist,
dark and putrid, thick and barbed,
chocking any head held high.
Footsteps fall on a threshing floor gaping
with endless chasms where
missteps twist the misstepped into
vague memories. Here, forgivers are
unforgiving and the soother speaks
with a forked tongue lashing through
grinning lips, while the outside clamor
of unbound hands applaud and
beckon for an encore. This is where
a healing touch decays and
withers as the cacophonous
shadows swallow warm light.
No stars pave the way to an
escape; no amount of strength can
tear the bonds of this furious
storm that confines vitality amid the
waves of rotting life. No
song comforts. Listen to
the empty void of removed memories.