A sound, less than a whisper, more than a breath of sighs . . .
Gritty, dangerous feel to it that grabs your guts and slides
them round till they twist your senses, sanity evaporates.
Loathsome worms of some dead flesh, an odor foul creates.
There it is again, sackcloth dragged across granite boulders,
A wisp of fog from darkest hell wraps itself around your throat.
starts to drag you into darkness where bloody gobbets of flesh float.
Last thought on your mind then is that the pain is just as you feared,
as limb from limb you are torn and every nerve ending is seared,
fleshy snags tossed to the bloody jaws of a sulfurous hell.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Jeannie
