Lost Soul
On a solid, old oak floor the only thing remaining is the reddish, brown stains in the middle of your chalky, five foot frame. I wonder… did you suffer or was it quick and painless? At night I hear your pained echoes tearing through the stone etched walls of this torture chamber. The residue of your soul lingers in the dust and mildew. Trapped inside the place you knew as hell. Written February 9th, 2002 © on Feb 09 2002 01:56 PM PST 10 • 0
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"On a solid, old oak floor..."