The roots of the flax,
Sink deep in the bog.
The quagmire, the swamp.
A pitiful shrub,
In a festering pool of...
Mud, shit and death.
The smell of rotten fungi,
Clings to the putrid air
The atmosphere, the stench.
This dank dark place,
Reflects my mood.
My foul, evil mood.
Don't enter unless you dare.
To face your own fate.
If i chose to take you
I will spit you out
or like a sinkhole
Swallow you whole
No comments:
Post a Comment