Trail to Consequence

Eerie blue forest,
whistles of the wind dry his ears,
a path which leads to the unknown.

The snow mixed with ash,
mixed with concoctions,
wicked patrol to see results.

This man so violet,
ill unsatisfying escape,
which leaves him more then half dead.

Beneath his flesh,
the lungs shade like black liquorish,
heart to sand color pink.

Cursed path he walks.

Wicked squall dust,
release poison,
they wish to take credit for his death.

Struggling pain,
like muscles that were forgotten for years,
a feeling of ache and failure.

He inhaled poisons,
ash pitched from hell,
till the body could stand no more.

This dark cursed path,
now known,
leads to the southern world of disgust.

--All Poems by Tia E
Copyrighted