The hatchet starts it all.
Burrowing into the lower depths.
Spaces so small.

The layout underestimates, deceives us.
A need for freedom.
Attempts to resist are futile, outrageous

Then the sewers.
Murky, rancid and foul is the stench.
Senses dulling, aromas piercing like skewers

Don’t stop now.
Elbows, shoulders, calves are tense,
Faintly hearing the moo of a cow.

Just a little more
Finally the light beckons…….all hope is lost
The final barrage of bullets shake to the core.