On The Suburbs of Terramax

Don't come in here, I warn you.
    Please don't come inside.
 It's not that you aren't welcome;
    I just don't want to be the tour guide.

You want to get in my head,
    Know the feelings stored on the shelf,
 But it's dark and cold and lonely inside.
    I don't want to be here myself.

Dark creatures scurry all around
    From cracks and corners and holes,
 Constantly whispering of impending doom
    And searching for wayward souls.

Five scrawny punks are plugged in and turned up,
    Singing songs filled with hate and fear.
 The words you can't understand,
    The message you can't help but hear.

There's a foul odor around here;
    It's the stench of rotting dreams
 And the soft ripping sound of a future
    Coming apart at the seams.

There are a thousand screaming maniacs
    Advocating death and delusion.
 They wield vicious thoughts like axes
    And add to the confusion.

A little girl cries for her mother;
    She's lost and terrified.
 She doesn't know how she got into this place
    Or how to get back outside.

An angry young poet sits alone
    Crying that he has no choice.
 Long after his death, the walls will echo
    The sound of his tear-soaked voice.

There's a shapeless mass in the shadows.
    It has no eyes, no arms, no heart.
 It has only teeth, and it wants my soul
    To take it and maul it and rip it apart.

An old woman creeps by,
    Mumbling her madness.
 She was once filled with desire;
    All that remains is her sadness.

Memories hang like cobwebs,
    Although I can't quite see them there.
 Still enough of them remains intact
    To tangle and ensnare.

A lying drunk beckons me;
    He wants to be my friend.
 He'll show me through this labyrinth,
    But he'll kill me at the end.

There is crying, laughing, moaning,
    And loud pounding on one side.
 Amidst the noise and mayhem,
    There's no place left to hide.

There's a very high ledge in the dark,
    Deadly, slick, and wet.
 I've slipped and stumbled often,
    But I haven't gone over... yet.

There are thieves and whores and artists,
    Beggars and knights of seduction.
 They all run amok and scream for attention,
    Create chaos and self destruction.

So don't come in here, I warn you,
    Because madmen run about
 And despair lurks in the shadows,
    And will not let you out.

Renee Ludwig
Copyright 1995
 

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