The sludge was thick, the rain was heavy
His laughter, maniacal, rasp with levy

Smug, the broad tree's rustle and whir
Demon's of the night wrestle and purr

He sweat's
         Cry's
             Fight's
                  With pain
Scream's frantically into the night, at the back of his wain.


This man was sickly stuck


He slumped to the floor at the back of his coach,
As death leered down, to the quivering roach.


Best this man, be the one that quickened his route, and never gave up In his head's pursuit, but Instead lay In the mud while the world pulls him In.

Devoured by the,