The Crawl

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Jason Cuthill

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As a lay in a ruin of my own making
My stumbling mind seeping open from its fresh wounds
A myriad of dormant tormented thoughts start oozing

Their stagnant odorous ponderings into the empty shell of My mind, too much
Too much
For one soul to take
Crawling in my sweat soaked sheets

As ghosts of locked away terrors break through the barred doors once Forgotten
Leering at my wretched state
Mocking my pathetic frame as I arch and twist in terror
Clutching at the books
Stuffed animals and pictures of dead relatives

And the holy texts that litter the walls
But they have little use
For the serpent is upon me
His slit eyes and monstrous mouth seek to devour me
I am alone

There is no god here

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