No Soul

Hank hides down in the underground

Like a rattlesnake in pry

He thrives in the toxin compound

Watching New York citizen’s stroll by

He coughs in the smoke of dirt


As he ponders what his future holds

The boss hands him a second roll

His low worth is killing him

So he inhales

The buzz has bitten him

The room’s moving as if it’s taunting him

He coughs out phlegm, smokes another and enjoys the bliss

His inner wakes, he thinks his mind is seeing things

As doors close and unhinge

Dance around him, then shut him out

While the halls prod, guiding him south

What heart awaits at this very hall?


Dead bodies plagued with a tread of souls

He falls in a hole

Empty, black, cold

He touches his cheek

His skin begins to carve away

His bones bend, soft and weak

Ghosts of his past taunt him as he fades

He bleeds of death

Stinks of erosion

His mind erupts

His lungs an explosion

What happened?

Unknowingly, the man gave it away

Let them set it aflame

He had a say

But Hank passed on the blame

Clinging to small, burning pride

He carried on down the hall emulating stride

On the way he fell in to hell

Stuck in a suffocating blacked out cell

It had been sold and he lost his mould

The man had lost his soul

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