Deep inside there is a need,
To the very soul, to feed.
In echoed voices in the head,
A calling that does heed,
A relentless urge to bleed.
Crimson halls and corridors,
Endless rows of clos’ed doors.
All lead to the same end.
Self-defeating little whores,
Bleeding out scarlet abhors.
Beyond each door there lies,
A flaming heart which cries,
For unmerciless repent.
Until the vile river dries,
And the corridors’ light dies.
K. Aldaya, 11/25/04
Picture: “Corridor to Hell” by William McLaughlin on Flickr; https://www.flickr.com/photos/billmclaugh/2965702055
My Soul is a Lock Without a Key 