I’m dead,
shot in the head,
vision going red, at the edges.

Lying on a bench in death’s park,
trying to make sense of shapes swirling in the dark,
HARK,
What do I hear?
Screams, drawing ever near,
are they real, or products of my own fear?
Open wounds, stung by a saline tear.
The Darkness calls, “Come my dear,
to my breast,
to an eternal rest,
the end of every quest,
a cold, dark, earthy nest.

The night closes in on me like the walls of an iron maiden,
the starlight becomes spikes unto the fork of Satan,
stabbing at the deepest recesses of my mind,
the purpose of the light is to blind,
would the darkness be so kind,
as to take me.

I’m falling, falling into a bottomless well,
Brimstone explodes with an acrid smell,
I hear the tolling of the devil’s knell,
I close my eyes, but the pain seeps through
like a thousand knives forged in the flames of hell,
and my scream pierces the night and everything beyond.

Lord, I wish I was dead,
shot in the head…