The Womb of Dread

Beneath the brittle crust of the earth,

Where light cannot find what gave fear birth,

Lies a chasm that seethes, a living tomb,

A breathing blackness, the womb of doom.

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The ground splits open, oozing despair,

A rank, wet whisper claws the air.

"Come closer," it moans, a mother's croon,

But its voice is razors, its love a ruin.

-

Skies fold inward, choking the stars,

The moon shatters like glass in tar.

Time halts its march and shudders back,

As the night itself begins to crack.

-

Shapes slither where reason won’t dare,

Their forms half-glimpsed, and worse for the glare.

They move like smoke but reek of decay,

Leaving the taste of rot where their shadows play.

-

Your breath won’t come—your lungs rebel,

Pulled by the grip of an unseen spell.

A sudden shriek—your name—your name!

But it’s your own voice playing the game.

-

The forest looms, its branches like claws,

Scraping the sky with bone-white saws.

Leaves whisper secrets of crimes unspoken,

Their touch on your skin leaves your soul broken.

-

And then, the laughter—low and thin,

A rasp of nails on the coffin within.

It laughs not at you but with your sin,

Mocking the hollow shell you’ve been.

-

Eyes—oh, the eyes—they sprout like mold,

On every surface, empty and cold.

Their gaze is fire that eats your skin,

Revealing the grinning horror within.

-

Hands drag from the muck, skeletal and slick,

Grasping your ankles, their grip like a tick.

Their whispers bubble in a tongue of dread,

Promising mercy after you're dead.

-

Then comes the thing—a formless maw,

A searing void with a grinding jaw.

It screams in colors you can’t perceive,

A sound that forces your soul to leave.

-

You try to flee, but your feet won’t shift,

The world is a trap, a cursed rift.

Every path leads back to this place,

Where the dark wears your own face.

-

The final truth burns into your brain:

You are the architect of all this pain.

The Maw is you, the claws, the wails—

The monster within you tips the scales.

-

No escape, no prayer, no waking from this,

Just eternity’s clutch, its cold, black kiss.

And as you dissolve, you understand:

The scariest Hell is the one you planned.