He stands
king
over all he has ever wanted; a shadowed corner
in a fetid cell.
Life
is nothing to stone.
Mountains erode.
Hillsides crumble.
To him, they go as whisper fast as men
whose eyes
have
failed
them.
Offal spreads from his feet,
stinking, harsh,
making unprepared eyes water-
so much faster,
stone.
Stone does not care for life,
and this stone cares yet less
but for the quick,
subtle
delicate
erosion
of the snap of bone on bone.
"Abandon all hope ye who enter here."
Stone does not care.
Don't blink.