The Dirty Road to Hell

The Dirty Road to Hell

The dirty road to hell where I fell,

dust in my lungs, no tolling bell.

No guiding hands, no whispered plea,

just hollowed ground consuming me.

The sky was scorched, the air ran dry,

a broken sun, a breathless sigh.

Each step I took, the world unmade,

a path of ash, a price unpaid.

No echoes called, no voices wept,

just shadows where the lost had crept.

And in the dark, the silence grew—

a weight I bore, a fate I knew.

The stones beneath were sharp with grief,

each one a name, each crack a thief.

They whispered sins with every tread,

a choir sung by hands long dead.

I reached for light, for air, for peace,

but fire clung with no release.

No stars remained to mark the way,

just embered dust and skies of gray.

The road stretched on, no end in sight,

a hollow march through endless night.

And in the haze, I heard it well—

a voice that laughed, You chose this hell.

Note. That this poem is not about me in any way, at all, It is just a poem, born from brain and inky pen 🖊️