Torture Chamber

Where all people fall, the Torture Chamber,

the cornerstone of your mind and stomach melding to make a pit

that swallows your heart,

pinning you down as the pendulum swings,

glinting like drawn teeth through the obscurity,

lapping at the air that separates you,

glinting with the hunger to condemn you to your fears,

Edgar Allen Poe never saw his poems become famous,

what type of soul did he have to suffer twice?

Will I the same fate of obscurity?

Just a person who was known

before I am swept away by Time,

along with my work?

The pit and the pendulum want the same thing,

the easy way out

of ending a dream because it is hard,

and it is easy to stop fighting and to let it finally feast,

but I would lose myself before my end,

and I have too much life left to live

to live it as a stranger.

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