Crawling out on hand and foot,
Standing quietly in cold, cold soot,
Looking out o’er City opposed,
Dust of snow and wind flowed.
Ceiling so grayed, with naught but white,
Graces my eyes, the cold, white night.
Our people were here, lost long ago,
As they walked about, toe to toe,
Working, riding, living, thinking.
Not one to know that they were sinking.
A story, my Mum or my Dad or my Gran,
Telled me of it, the last ditch of Man,
They ran from their world, from panic and scare,
Into the high, cold, dead ‘air’.
Us, ones with no one such way,
Dug into the flooring to bide us some day,
Year and year longer, we set up our sh
Dungeons and Dragons is Satan.
Every Wednesday evening my friends and I drop by Starbucks before gathering at my rather well-to-do friend’s house. We all creep down into the depths of his dusty, dank, presumably haunted (if the ghosts and noises I’ve encountered are any indication) cellar and strap a young Christian girl to the table. We each take turns ‘having at her’ (I usually go for the face) before we undertake the slow and arduous process of bloodletting her to a slow and bloody demise.
I’m sure you’re eager to wonder why we do these heinous (strictly illegal, loud and messy) acts. W