Whispering words that speak of futures gone past ...
Ever oozing wounds that never heal as walls bleed
that ever lucious velvet red, life's merlot of sweetness.
The shrieks, so precious are their sounds as bodies
are dismembered in some far off distant chamber.
Heads upon spikes line the hallways as trembling
torsos dangle from hooks upon chains, swinging
from the ceilings above. With each footfall, bones
crunch beneath boot, shattering like toothpicks.