Poetry
A poem
Shadows writhe,
twisting walls exhale their damp breath.
Echoes of cavernous ribs
and skittering claws
in darkness, the sleeping beast.
Murmurs drift from below
seizing the heart,
to lose themselves,
as I keep walking
and don’t look back.
In the belly of the beast
a mesh of veins and arteries pulse,
signs of life in the void,
and slick with moisture
it exhales a dank breath
that chills the marrow.
Air, thick with the scent of the unknown,
forms a cocktail of dread and curiosity.
I tread lightly,
each step a betrayal
of my presence.
Disjointed words spill forth
from unseen mouths,
their meaning lost in the abyss,
swallowed by the oppressive darkness.
Their stories seep into my skin,
a patchwork quilt of guilt and regret.
The darkness is a shroud,
a cloak of isolation that clings to my form.
Yet, within its folds, I find a strange comfort,
a solace in the solitude.
The mystery unravels,
each thread a link to its existence
while I am but a visitor in its realm,
a transient shadow in its eternal slumber.
I carry its essence with me,
a silent echo of the grotesque within,
as the journey continues
into the heart of the unknown.
