Crimson hand prints adorned the walls, a rancid place with no fresh air at all.
A prison, a tomb, so concrete, so empty, barely room for two and two would be plenty.
Hidden away or out of plain sight amongst the over growth but not under day light.
Where damp infested, metal starts to wither, rusted and brown like the barges on a river.
Deep beneath the bowels of this squalid creation amongst the crumbling Stone of its hideous foundations.
Lie human remains, tibia, a femur, skulls belonging to souls their spirits are trapped here.
Senses are heightened the energy oppressive, so dense and heavy that it becomes aggressive.
Never before had I experienced such a
place the shackles, the suffering, torture and hate.
I can not imagine.
I can not breathe.
Everything about this squalor is suffocating.
There's a ringing in my ears, the clink clank of a key.
As I realize those old bones . . they belong to me.






© Jade