Pit of Sacrifice

 “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.

In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.”
― H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu


Face down in the ground with the blood seeping around me
I have found that no crown will keep you from this.
The gloom in my tomb filters out the searching light
At the moon I want to swoon if only I could be free.

I feel something moving
Underneath
The pile of bodies
I’m beneath.
Teasing tentacles
With talons
Grasp a corpse
And drags it down under.

I can hear something
Crunching bones
And the rending of flesh
I have read the tomes
And this must be
The Well to the Abyss
For the thing below
Should not exist.

I was a sacrifice by a knife upon the altar of the old ones
On a moonlit night with no end in sight but a bottomless well.
The blood it drenched with a stench of rust and candies
With a wrench I had to retch upon the stained cobblestones.

Someone gave me a shove
And then I flew
Through the air
And through the gloom.
Shaking limbs reached for me
Still alive
Shuddering in fits
Waiting for me to arrive.

Then upon the weak
I crashed
Gaining screams
And set to lash.
But over time I
Was left beneath
The piling bodies.
Laying on the dead man breach.

And now I wait to sate the monster’s gaping maw
To be a wraith upon the plate of the things that slither.
A churning, burning mash up of flesh and bone
A yearning, learning man whom wishes for home.

The talons seize my flesh
With a rip of skin
It yanks me through
For feast to begin.
Pulled through the darkness
I gag on gore.
It ceases my screams
Suffocating galore.

To void I am pulled
Only to see
Empty blackened orbs
Staring at me.
Mottled dead flesh
Begs for a feast.
I am then shoved down
Into the jaws of the beast.