A Subjextive DestinyA Subjective DestinyA Subjextive Destiny
A single dim flickering halogen sways from the brush of a god.
Mouths sewn shut with eyes stapled open, biding time until dismemberment.
Stagnant air carries the nauseating smell of rotting flesh, fresh blood,
and formaldehyde to exhausted senses.
Red light from the Darkroom chokes the panicked shadows.
Cold, rusty scalpel anticipating the sacred flesh of an innocent.
The chirping of rodents, squirming of freshly born maggots,
and hollow murmurs of the hopeless, make the room bleed with pain.
Death is now welcome
