and all below
and their sadists
and perversions
the skill thereof
of the fallen
Run while you can
 
Nothing, but desolation, forests of pulped children inhabited by amorphic metaphors and cleansing units. Above them, spinal spires caked with ichor, illuminated by a black eye overhead... glistening and dripping sleep of unreason on all.

THE POOL OF AGONIES

THE MAPS OF HELL