by Nick Gisburne
These walls are where we store forgotten dreams,
And memories too broken to retrieve.
The pieces of abandoned shadows. Screams.
Deceptions only liars could believe.
The catalogue of nightmares in our care
Has flourished for a hundred thousand years.
Revived, rebuilt, we blend them into rare,
Intriguing traumas, unfamiliar fears.
But some of us, the Secret Keepers, know
Of darker doorways, deeper tunnels, holes.
Where even those we serve refuse to go,
We feed, we bleed, abused, aborted souls.
Their twisted torments beg to be released,
But, piece by piece, upon their pain, we feast.
