. . . .

The Hallway

The hallway, dark and cold

Scratches feeding the cries

Those innocent souls were sold

In this old building built on lies

 

The carvings etched into the wall

From those who’ve seen it all

They run and they crawl

Down this inescapable hall

 

The chair lit up the square room

The straps that will bind me soon

I feel the minds trapped in this chair

His empty eyes don’t break my stare

 

The syringe pierces my skin twice

As I see the liquid drain

Then it flows through my veins like ice

Now I know what its like to feel pain

 

The dense confusion washes over me

As my body resembles lead

Will the horrors I see ever flee

Or am I better off, being dead.            

 

A mystical land of dreams

Where all is at is seems

Ramblings by Zach Hillas