old home

hell is a vast landscape of monochromatic mountains
they contrast nicely with the cinnamon candy sky

there is a small red house in the woods
the sun never rises, nor does the moon

in this eternal darkness, the demons of tommorow find shelter
they burrow into the stone foundation
and cry

no one can hear them, just as no one can hear the
shreiks radiating from the top of the mountain

someone is being eaten alive
torn limb from limb and strewn about lke
woodchips on a playground

silence becomes distant and life glimmers faintly before being
extinguished by the green, bubbling pool
of self-destruction