Hell's House

January 6, 2008
By Justin Confer, Sugar Land, TX

Down the dark corridor he slowly fumbled,
He knows not upon what he has stumbled.

The house that hates,
the house that kills.
It end his fate,
as his blood spills.

Down on his knees,
he cries out please.
“Why do you torture, ghouls and ghosts?
I am but a guest, you’re such an evil host!”

With the last words spoken,
And his last breath drawn.
The house leaves him broken,
bleeding until dawn.

As the gore soaks into its foundation,
The house returns to its hellish nation.

2nd poem

“A Gate To Hell”

This is the story of the land of the dead,
the ground splattered by blood is crimson red.
Demons hide around every corner,
they rip out the throats of any foreigner.

The walls are decorated with skulls,
dozens of bodies mounted on poles.
Feathers and scales litter the ground,
screams can be heard from all around.

Out of desperation you may run,
but for the demons this is more fun.
When they catch you, no doubt that they will,
your teeth and flesh will be torn from you still.

And as your flesh is peeled from your bone,
your carcass left bare, never to be known.
You’ll drown in a puddle of blood and tears,
but that’s how it’s been for years and years.

As the night comes and the day starts to end,
the sunset and your blood begin to blend.
To this desolate land your just another one,
the day ends with the setting of the blood red sun.

Justin Confer

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