Down in the depths of this hollow shell.
There stands a place that is not called hell.
For demons and mortals do not frequent.
Nor to this place are the condemned to be sent.
Instead its a spot where black dahlia’s bloom.
Penetrating the stench of unearthly gloom.
Twisting and turning with writhing walls.
As well as blood gushing waterfalls.
Up on the peaks of a snow capped rock.
There is a space surrounded by a flock.
Birds with eyes dark as the night skies.
They weed out those who tell only lies.
Yet not to condemn or damn them to rot.
Rather so they might rise and take the lot.
That which has been sealed in a dire pit.
Burrow filled with death, lies and shit.
Out across those lakes filled with bile.
Wider and deeper than even the Nile.
It is a realm where the doomed lament.
Ensuring unlost souls are mercilessly spent.
Toiling away for being so pathetic.
All cause none of them truly get it.
That is why darkness will always prevail.
Cause the light will never fight tooth and nail.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 