It's been three days since the last breath
Of a small slave taking death
And hell to his eyes
No-one got to say their goodbyes
Gone to sleep, never to wake
What they get for saying Debth was a fake
The silence was sensual
And all too unusual
.
First-time since it started
That Debths consciousness parted
From the woken world
Into a ball, the Dr. curled
Comfy and cozy for a full rest
Hoping his dreams will not jest
Into a very deep sleep
To awaken in a world Debth made to keep
YOU ARE READING
The Fullest of Crypts is in the Open Air
PoetryThe complete genocide of the human species in rhyming fashion. 1,558 words.
