The Lazarus Vindiction

I don't wish to head there, it's not a nice place, because there's no memory there that could ever cheer me up. Manifestations of hatred, contempt, malice, anger, disease, loneliness, depression and anxiety creep up from beneath the group and are swept up into you by the very air you breath. I couldn't last one day in there without becoming another part of that tragic story which made gave birth to that place.

It's the hell on earth - and underworld-like place where you are defeated by your very senses. You live by the air you breath and you feel by the heart which beats within you. Your smell helps you scent those sweet-smelling roses by the roadside and your eyes let you witness the wonders of the world. But that place only belies the word of tragedy. It's not like you can overcome it, because that distorted reality holds only that which tells it's own story of death and defeat. Those who wander inside are only welcomed with robes of the dead and served with a guilty pledge for a main course. There is nothing else to see or witness. It's just tragedy over, and over...and over again.

You might want to stay away from it, lest one day you find yourself being drawn to that place. In a strange kind of way, it's a place where sadness is welcomed. Unlike the harsh world where happiness is the key role and ignorance is bliss, there you can find a place to draw out your innermost feelings to the extreme. That which you never told anyone, because it was just too much to bear and those times where you just felt so helpless and in distress, with no help. There's a place to go, and it's there.

Then maybe, if you reach the darkest dungeon, on the lowest cell of the tower buried beneath the black sand; you might just meet me. At least it keeps me imprisoned away from the world.