Art, Poetry
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halls of anathema

brown shit stains

tarred by the darkness

into the fire i walk

 

as skeletons hang in torn rags

executioners without a mask gaze on

praying for souls that i am to keep

 

and down the cement I spiral

tossed into the pit i see the lion

a den without escape

 

and above this chamber

a light that can’t be put out

to which i am destined to meet

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This entry was posted in: Art, Poetry

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My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.

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