Welcome to Hell Mother and son,  the place where demons fly through fire and brimstone dark black blue ash covered in sute to get to you. Welcome young one. Welcome to the place where men’s screams squeeze the lungs out of your eardrums like the pi puss from a pimple, please that squeeze with ease it flows with ease a new one grows.  Welcome to hell, watch your mother’s  dark shoes burn holes as clues for the demons that bite they chew to hair follicles that line your dark head, the devil horned gate states an awful shade of grey after long sharp warped fingers walking scraping red paint fingernails tore straight lines through the red paint that layered it.  Like the sc screech a vivid makes when it makes its way down a plain white piece of paper paper. Your mother’s eyes sparkle with fear blue and hazy but devoid of all tears lost of all her goodnight prayers her goodnight prayers. They say the eyes are the gateway to the soul but watch as I tell you what has to unfold.  Welcome to Hell, the place where your mother sits tenderly crossed legged looking elderly looking outwardly so ashamed of her future that’s now to be. Welcome to Hell, dead dogs spinal cords twisted into DNA coils wrapped in tin foil heat absorbent absorbing saliva from Satan's sweet sweet tongue. Long and black it stands over hideous rows of fangs bone marrow mixed with sparrow blood and your next door neighbor. Fangs stab holes tongue rolls back like a blender blending marrow into mush blood black blood  and with a gulp sliding down an esophagus and he's gone. Her long luscious hair pulled as she’s  pulled away, Her screams fading fast but still so much to say. “Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, johnny” Welcome to my convent, the home of torment and pain, pain is the blue salty ocean salted tears burnt by the flames that fuel your inner rage. Torment is the eyeballs rolling back seared, melting, dripping blood like a tap that hasn’t turned off properly, pupils diluted  in isolation. They say eyes the eyes are the gateway to soul, so many memories captured but untold lost and untold, empty eyes display and empty image empty eyes just look like empty cartilage tinged with uncertainty eye-sockets litter the ground pickpocketed of the only life they had...  Welcome to Hell! Your mother”s screams are a trigger to the gun that’s inside of you. Shooting out fear, worry, anger, anxiousness, depression head to a pillow tears soak the pillowcase fist to a wall head to a wall struggling to cope hands to the rope, around the neck and hung.  Welcome to Hell! The place where white hot barbed wire shackles naked  womens throats it rips until they choke shackled by the hands the throat and the toes cut bleeding black hands feet toes, cut bleeding black hands feet toes cut bleeding back shackled by barbed wire to a stove hot stove pot concrete grill sharp yet their inner screams inescapable still. Bodies trembling perishing, the walls speak of nightmarish things. Weak and slim rib cage exposed through the layer of thin skin of that woman with infertility used as a utility bruised by abusive rapists. In Hell fountains poor ash when I choke I'm really choking pass me his urn and I'm smoking. Roll that ash in skin so dark it's charcoal. Lungs so full of lives once past passing the high’s of the cigarette of life.  Welcome to Hell the place where your mother’s fists clench as she screams wrenched over a bench embedded with a steel grate skin shredded until it hangs of her slim meak slender body. Her goodnight prayers Her goodnight prayers.  Welcome to Hell, the stench of rotten flesh whisked with arsenic so close to the mouth you can taste it. Demons fly silver teaspoons of arsenic through the dark sky it rises and falls as it glides slurped like medicine as slides down your throat with such simplicity. The epiphany that the body is weakening, muscles convulsing, throat vomiting urine, diarrhea mixed with blood and half your intestine 24 hrs before the demons are dining on the left overs of your insides.  Multiple Fathers that beat mothers that threw bottles pissed as pissing on mothers fathers leaving their children, hung on the wall. That one mother, your mother that beat your father hung on the wall head down. She looks like she’s sleeping just not in her bed, Satan’s long red finger in her head, his other hand rests gently on her breast her squishy white breast Satan’s being breastfed. Scars layer her skin that’s tattered in parts partly dead but still breathing mouth agape but still breathing. Your fingertips locked in her soft palms the way she held you in her warm gentle arms your bodies so still yet so calm your fingertips neatly enclosed in her in her palm. Her cold burnt palms. “Mummy”