Entry 387: She Who Writes In The Hollow

In the hollow where she lay

She quietly writes all day

Every person she brings to life

Are actually stolen from their reality

…Fated to die…

The more she writes the more people will die

Perhaps you can change her mind?

Many have found her

Many have tried

Most of them turned into monstrosities


Their body parts are left hanging in the wild…

Once their souls have been claimed

They reenact the stories written about them

The Hollow is a place where stories are told

Nestled in one of Black Winters many worlds…

So if by chance you awake in a wooded place

Confused as to how you got there

You may want to consider she is writing your fate

Stealing your soul,

Making you a part of one of her many tales…

-She Who Writes In The Hollow-




Entry 386: These Halls Of Suffering

In this place, there is only death

A world of suffering

Violent ends

In this place, blood runs from the walls

Those who enter lost to all

In this place sits a souls dying breath

Replayed in the deaths of all who come after it

A room with a ceiling that comes down

The sounds of bones slowly cracking,

Screams unending,

These souls will never be found!

In this place, you’ll cry for God

Torment will be all you have

In this place, Death is no escape

You’ll relive your death again & again

Guaranteed only an eternity of pain!

In this place, you’ll cry for hope

Many will do so as they slowly choke

For no soul who enters this house of pain

Will ever leave again

In this place there sits a woman who cries

Those who hear her weeping

Will silently die

All air leaving their once healthy lungs

Suffocation so slow

It is all they will ever know

In this place

There sits a hall of laughter which never ends

In this place people will ask an end

The demented cackling goes on & on

Eventually, all who hear it do themselves in…

In this place lay a secret most profound

None will share it though

In this place lay so many ways to an end

Such is the way


-These Halls Of Suffering-

Entry 385: The Hammer Beckons…

Slam is the sound

As I pound the ground

Your head a peg

My hammer meeting your crown

The rain pours

Your screams ignored

The sound of the thing

Can be heard craving more

The bloodshed

It is fed

I go to the shed

To begin steps for the next…

Down in a dark place

Where reaches only the sounds of each death

Waits another head

Another body attached to it

Writhing in pain

Begging for mercy

No help will ever be made

Another soul

For which there will be no hope

Only the eventual end…

The body buried in place

The hammer coming down upon the crown

The bloodshed in the rain

It is sated once again

I try to step away

A voice echoes from its bloody face

-The Hammer Beckons-