A Prison Of Your Own Making

Slowly the boat moves
Along the river Styx.
Paying the ferryman,
You pass into the Underworld.
A blanket of sorrow
Wraps itself around your weakened body;
The wool shrinks and the fibers tighten,
And what was once a comfort
Now sears into your skin
With the firestorm of Hell's rage.
Your soul is doomed.
Your life wasted
In poor choices
And bad decisions.
You call out for help...
But the sound sticks in your throat.
Screams shatter inside your head
But nothing breaks through.
You tear at the walls that are closing in,
But all you get are bloodied fingers;
Your eyes well up and dry;
They catch fire
Leaving you blinded.
You stumble around
Unable to save yourself
Or find any small amount of solace.
Collapsing into yourself;
You see your hope flicker...
And feel it leave.
Now your future is set;
You are bound in a prison of your own making;
And nothing will set you free.

31 lines.


Prompt for: Jan 22, 2016 (Ren) ▼

Subject or Theme: Any aspect of death (death, not mourning). (funerals, people or pets who have died, plants you've killed, murder, death rituals, metaphorical death, etc.
Word(s) to Include: blanket, river (or any derivatives of these words)
Forbidden Word(s): agony, death, die, kill, love, murder, tear (or any derivatives, compound or hyphenations of these words)
Additional Parameters: At least 24 lines.
Remember, do not use forbidden words ANYWHERE, including title or the brief description.