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Logan Turner Feb 2021
Claw marks on the walls
Cover my vision
All I can see
All I can breath
The sea of green that blankets me
There's been a breach
In cell sixteen

Ripped and picked clean
Sound of broken glass
A broken voice?
And soon all is silence except a sound cannot be described
Realises he must be the last
A son at the end of the corridor screams out for dads help
Shifting and phasing, a pulsating mass

These are dreams
I am he and he is I
Who am I then
Am I even me?
Senseless makes you panic
Panic makes it easier to rip and pull you clean
A whispering voice drills into the psyche

Funk plays in the distance
A favourite band
Followed by screaming you've never heard
Followed by the soundscape and the clawing
Follow it
Good.
Good ******* God

Wake up
The claw marks still pressing
The sickness inside
Find it
The only way
He's escaped from cell sixteen

Find him in his hole
The hole there
Yes
The hole there!
Climb in and find it
Pick and pull it clean

Can't take it back now
We've found a new home
A new home
A new home
A new home
A new home
A new home
A comfy rocking chair
A nice new home in cell sixteen

— The End —