The howls of hell are so loud.
They call me down, I don't want-
I don't want to visit hell!
I won't leave my hometown now,
but the fires of hell call!
They have called my name- My name!
And said I am a red man.
They don't know who the 'red' is.
The sounds grow louder, louder!
I don't know who speaks right now.
I'm not aware who visits.
Faster, must we not ignore
the kind of place demons love.
The sort of pace they adore-
The kind of haste, the damp taste
they seem to think people have.
YOU ARE READING
Incoherent Poetry from the Depths
Terror(The painting in the cover is by painter Nicola Samori) Do y'ever just wish to feel the chills of the ethereal down your spine? Have you wondered what life is like outside your material universe? Did you ever posit the idea, that a good bout of uns...
