The Golfer's Eternal Agony

In the still of dawn, beneath skies torn,

She strode the course, her soul forlorn.

A woman of pride, with words like knives,

Doomed to laugh while taking lives.

--

“You can’t compete, your game’s a lie,

Watch me crush you and watch you die.”

Her voice, a curse that chilled the air,

Her eyes, too cold, too dead to care.

--

But beneath her feet, where grass grew thin,

Something ancient stirred within.

The 18th hole, dark as a tomb,

A place where shadows feast on doom.

--

"Child's play," she sneered, her heart ice-cold,

Yet the ground beneath began to fold.

The wind fell silent, the world stood still—

Her final swing would seal the kill.

--

The ball, once struck, did not descend,

But hung in air—a nightmare's end.

A groan, so deep, so raw with pain,

Rose from the earth like a twisted chain.

--

The soil split open, blood-soaked and vile,

And from its depths came something foul.

Rotting faces, eyes full of dread,

Clawed their way from the graves of the dead.

--

A scream tore loose from her wicked mouth,

But no one heard, for all hope drowned out.

Skeletal hands, cold and cruel,

Dragged her down—an eternal duel.

--

Her bones snapped loud, her flesh was torn,

Her limbs contorted, grotesque, deformed.

And as she fell into the pit,

The faces laughed in a demonic fit.

--

"Mock us, boast, and speak your sin—

Now suffer here, where death begins."

Her eyes were pried from her bleeding skull,

Her screams so sharp, they’d break the dull.

Her tongue ripped out by unseen force,

She'd speak no more, no words of course.

--

But worse still, her mind remained,

Trapped in endless, eternal pain.

Each swing she made, her fingers bled,

Her body mangled, her soul now dead.

--

She played forever, through blood and bone,

Her laughter gone, replaced by moans.

At night, her wails chill the breeze,

The whispers creep through cursed trees.

--

Her broken form crawls across the green,

A nightmare born, never unseen.

She is the Golfer—damned and lost,

A soul that mocked, now pays the cost.

--

And those who dare to play her game,

Will never leave, nor be the same.

Her face is gone, her voice is drowned,

Her suffering the only sound.

--

So play with pride and mock the dead,

But know you'll join her—when night turns red.