Blood, the stench rising up from the pits, lined by bodies, clawing at each other, desperate to get out, get away.
Screaming, harsh and violent, darkened by ages of torture, crossing lifetimes and remaining alive beyond the sorry pleasure.
Mutilation evidenced by broken limbs and severed threats, roaring for release, fighting to be let out, constantly at work, the fate of a mad man's whim.
Retching, with every strike and slash, more cause to cry, more cause to run, though the actual fact impossible, dreaming in Satan's pit of lies and web of deceit.
Corpses, pilling high, on either side the pleas are heard, as desperate man makes solace, let death take and become me like the ones now frozen.
Pain, a never ending joy, a curse on god's creatures, a distraction from other worldly beings, a constricting lunge of hate, a murderous glance, an unholy paradise.
Death, a pleasure often seeked by hope, thus deprived has abandoned us long ago. Still though they beg, still that they must fight for some purchase in this unwanted creation.
Life.
