There stands a wall.
Of which the bricks.
Are made of lies.
And sins.
And dead men's souls.
This wall surrounds.
A blackened land.
Where fired burn.
Yet never smolder.
And it rains.
Nails and needles.
From which the clouds.
Are poison gas.
There is a wind.
Which howels and moans.
Calling.
Beckoning.
To every passer-byer.
There are seven suns.
Which sit high in the sky.
Each one.
Cast but two shadows.
Every night.
Foul beasts and monsters.
Roam the land.
Their crimson eyes.
Aglow.
Some travelers wander.
Through.
This third dimension.
Yet.
Never wander back.
It is.
A world.
Within our world.
Begging to break free.