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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Technically I am an Atheist and therefore I don't actually believe in 'hell.' So dont take this one too litterally. Comment, please.

Submitted: December 24, 2007

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Submitted: December 24, 2007



A silent wasteland
Deprived of life
An endless strife
I’ve walk this barren street
Glass and blood beneath my feet
A blank sheet
Waiting to be written on
But no writers can be found
Every step
Another shot of molten pain
Till you are deprived
With naught left to gain
Every minute
Another tortured crie
Another soul must die
The immense light
Surrounding you in darkness
Like a burning night
Engulfing you
In such wretched, screaming silence
A lost defiance
You do not succumb
But you will
You do not give in
But you find yourself on your knees
Begging for an end
But there is none to be found
You fall to the ground
And just keep falling
Like everything you’ve ever heard
Just worse
Another verse
Of pain and destruction
Your mind collapses
Leaving you broken
Hell is like
Everything you’ve ever heard about it
And more
Because no one ever speaks
Of the absolute worse part of hell
It isn’t the pain
Or the wretched constant sound
Its not the smell of decay
No its not the continuous horrid smell
What is it?
It’s the cold
The freezing, burning cold
You feel it numbing you
As you walk the path of death
You see it in your breath
It invades all your senses
And it eats at you
Yes the absolute worse part of hell
Is the cold
You see, you hear, you feel it
You taste it
And even the smell
This constant chill
This is the worse part of hell.

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