• I can smell it's onion breath,
    beating on my face.

    I can hear it's silent muttering,
    debating how I taste.

    Not going to open my eyes,
    and see it's yellow slits.

    The heat is overwhelming,
    coming from rancid lips.

    Maybe if I'm lucky,
    it will just pass me by.

    But then I feel cold fingers,
    making me shiver and cry.

    And in one jerking motion,
    I go down its throat live

    And in my heart something says,
    that I will not survive.

    Despair begins to choke me,
    as I suffer and Die.

    Surrounded here by darkness,
    why should I even try?

    The Horror and the pain,
    The meaningless, the strife,

    There is no escaping,
    a potatoe chip life...