HORROR Poem: six forty seven, by M.S. Blues

inspired by the famous hit of instupendo

you advance
and advance
and advance –

until you reach beyond the land beyond the gloom and withering owers –
and become submerged in a new kaleidoscope, a new illusion.
your tendons feel the nails of the
reaper, who traces intricate and
thoughtful patterns on its canvas.
your mind nods away, the air
tattooing incoherence on your
senses.

is this real or is this another fucked up dream?

voices whisper,
as your descent
into ________ (MADNESS, SADNESS, EMPTINESS?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!)
ensues.

you advance
and advance
and advance –

until you realize, there’s no dierent
path you can take. it’s the same cycle –
and once that realization settles, the
reaper grabs your ankles and drags
you away, while the symphony of
the trees, the ground, the land –
recite an ode, only they hear.

to hell you go… to hell you go… to hell you go