Devourer of Souls

When the void calls, and the night obeys,

Its voice drips black through endless haze.

The stars retreat, their light betrayed,

For terror walks where dreams are frayed.

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No heartbeat shields, no prayer can bind,

The thing that nests within your mind.

It knows your fears, it tastes your guilt,

And builds its throne on bones you built.

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The walls grow thin; they breathe, they moan,

A prison formed of flesh and stone.

The mirror splits—your face divides,

A thousand eyes, a thousand lies.

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The clock ticks backward; time dissolves,

A riddle no sane soul resolves.

Its pendulum swings, its edges sharp,

Carving silence into a deathless harp.

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You run, but hallways stretch like veins,

Alive with whispers, cries, and chains.

The floor dissolves; you plunge below,

To caverns steeped in an ember glow.

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There, in the pit where horrors breed,

A shadow writhes, a mindless need.

Its form is nothing, yet it is all—

A shapeless god that devours the fall.

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Its voice is thunder, a fractured dirge,

A hymn to chaos, a drowning surge.

"You are my feast, my endless lore,

The fear you hold shall make me more."

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You claw, you scream, but it’s in vain;

The dark it spills consumes your name.

Your flesh unwinds, your soul is torn,

An offering to the never-born.

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And as you fade, its laughter grows,

A symphony where madness flows.

For the abyss hungers, it always feeds,

On shattered hearts and wicked deeds.

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No dawn will rise, no light will mend,

In this horror, all things end.