The forest of hidden desires
Where you enter at your own risk
Where we throw away what we crave for
Where we abandon our love children The babies grow up alone and turn to monsters The longer we don’t visit them, the angrier they get And then you go to see them It’s your own hidden baby that attacks you And rips your throat out And you die in unspeakable pain
What comes back from the forest is a walking shell
Made of habit and entropy Labels: children, desire, forest, love, monsters, pain, risk |
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You must have the same kind of horrible nightmares that I do! The stresses of daily life morph and mutate into unearthly apparitions of hellish horror when I sleep.