The graveyard

The graveyard is for the brave hearts, not for the faint hearts. Its way hard to keep your composure, especially when the sounds keep getting closer. It don’t help praying to Jehovah. This is the darkness literally and figuratively, the sound of trees whistling G got me trembling. Remembering that I got legs I take it step by step because all my friends have fled. They couldn’t take the terror the torture of having the unknown haunt ya but I keep my nerves steel like cause I’m a brawler. Ever since a toddler the skill I possessed most was of a night crawler, midnight stalker. The chilly air bites my goose bumps I’m freezing too much plus the goose bumps could be from seeing a hooded figure that’s looking like the Ku-Klux clan like a hoodlum. Ducking in the shadows, it doesn’t even say hello. Its eyes are bright yellow, asking me if I wanna follow to the gallows. As if I have a choice except death. So I choose to descend underneath the tombstone is a dark passage that bends, the walls are lined with vines and fungus so its blends with the outside. My mouth is wide, open as I reach the bottom. Watching deceased relatives in a daze like they took sedatives. They don’t even recognise me because they’re dead but are living through the souls of ancestors that we worship. Out of all slavery this must be the worst shit. Seeing my blood helpless and worthless. It really hurts kid. But we move on I gotta be strong because I don’t have a shoulder to lean on. My guide tells me I’ve been living for eons and eons and now is the time that I realise my fears and weaknesses is what my failures feed on. I need to decide whether I am to be slaughtered or further the cause of the dead. The sword off with the head but it caught me by the dread so I said teach me more. Not things I’ve seen before, because I’ve seen men bleed before, lose their teeth before. I’ve buried babies who couldn’t breath no more. So out of the blue I found myself in a room called the kitchen of doom. Those who had been buried alive were now awake. Getting raped by two foot men with flesh eating leeches attached to they penises. Screams that were amplified but could not be heard from the outside. Exploding foetuses. Next it was the hall of daisies with pregnant ladies, giving birth through the influence of swallowing army ants and having to react by forcing the baby out of her to save it being devoured by the carnivorous ants chew her baby before its born. Slicing her own stomach to save her unborn baby but her unborn is not ready to be born. It needs to learn to breathe more and eat corn. Both mother and baby die in front of my eyes and my guide asks me, "do you wanna see more." Reluctantly I say yes. Catching my breathe, stress on my chest. What’s next? Next is the spiders nest. The web containing the thoughts of men for those who want to torture men without getting their hands dirty. People who fail to control their thoughts and senses sought of men. Those who were weak had their fates sealed, like dogs they yield, getting sent out to the fields to risk their precious lives for another who couldn’t care less. They wield no rewards. Food for maneaters. Im offered a bite but decline so I’m offered wine. A closer look reveals that its blood. My guide seems to have a smile on its face. Even though it’s featureless. Its height is a metre or less, it has a C on its chest. Its unrobed and telling me take off my clothes and approach the altar slow. Suddenly the room begins to snow. And urine is coming out of my belly hole. My fears and weaknesses take a human form. In the form of my most hated enemies. Jealousy takes the form of a whore while attention as always screams for more and more and more. It’s like looking in the mirror except I’m not looking at me. I’m looking at myself and all of my hell that I’ve created unconsciously. It’s like I’m in a constant sleep. Taking my life to the bottomless pit instead of living prosperously. The wool has been removed, now it’s time to make moves. My guide tattoos a seal on my heart by ripping my chest open with a blunt tool. But funny enough it’s painless. I must be starting to see now. So many years wasted. It’s getting close to dawn as I yawn. Sleepy. I must return home. These dangerous streets aren’t scary anymore because I be free. Living for empowerment. I’m no more beefy. You may shake my hand when you see me. But don’t think you know me. It’s not easy being me.