PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Like the dancing of a thousand maggots upon the corpse of the rotting dead, their fingers twisted and squirmed; their hands gripped at the void, and the lust of the dying flesh ran from their contorted lips. Under the weight of wreckage, he found himself trapped, unable to move, unable to escape; unable to look away from the nameless and the damned that sought to bring him their tragic fate. As the shadow of death loomed over, blocking out the weeping face of the moon, the teeth of the rabid; the vile, infected mob clashed against the twisted remains of steel and plastic. Into the core of his soul, the suffering of unending torment coursed, infecting his brain; filling his body with trembling fear. From the socket, his arm had been pulled; coming loose in the violent chaos that engulfed the night. As he tried forcing his way free from the madness, the weight grew; the blood ran from his body in panic, as it fled into the unknown; in desperation to hide from the savage faceless. Into the night, howls of the condemned echoed, flowing on the wind of the great beyond; numbing him to the bone, as the lifeless gaze of the hungry dead fell down upon him. The blood ran still.