The Pitt

To be dragged face down trying to grasp the floor, reaching out for any leverage hoping to find your chance. Sliding quickly towards a deep black hole. Sucked into gaping mouth and made thirsty by its quenching need. Falling fast lost in the feel of empty sky. Scared anticipating the crash of your body upon the hard surface of the ground. deep into the bottom of this Pitt waiting to splatter your blood and pool out your soul in this dark hall. Blinded you lose concept of up and down, lost you sleep. And he waits. With his heart beating louder than air in guilt his eyes lay sweat upon his face. With a smirk like non other he stands there out of breath. His hands straight down the sides of his rugged body clinched in fists of weary, such an act so uncannily manipulated all but for his fury. Nerves of lightning strike through his veins in up most terror. so much to say a crime of passion. And as he stands red it rains in such a loud fashion. he hears nothing but the echo of his dripping fingers. and although it drips thick from his hands, remorse and regret are absent, and all alone he stands. For he has done no wrong but put a beast to sleep. Forever it will stay and yet never will it weep. For he knows hes done no wrong but release the beast in me.