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Aug 2020
He approached the cellar,
An endless abyss of stairs.  
He could feel something... a stare
But can’t see it from all the clutter

He grasps through the dark
At any chance he’ll reach a light,
Like a month in the darkest of night
So he decides to light a spark

A stench more foul than death
A wretch about to meet the wretched
The outline stole his breath
A trail of slime so wicked

It’s skin shifted
It’s head lifted
Teeth glistened

With eyes dilated
And mouth salivated
It’s distorted body elevated

A slimy, contorted, mangled, freak
Enough to make your confidence weak
And your future bleak.
Enough talk, it’s time to eat!
What do you imagine?
Michael
Written by
Michael
70
 
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