The Survival Show

Like a plague upon a 

Near motionless ocean,

All rot and slime and 

Maggots in rotation,

That flood of filth, all the 

Visions I abhor assault 

My inner eye, the ravaged 

Passage to my mind.

Caverns carved of

Ice and nighttime, where

Ghouls and grimmer 

Bite and frighten,

All 'round lies horror,

Gore and more, deftly 

Orchestrated torture

For what mind is left me.

To counter Chaos, to survive,

To run the gauntlet and emerge

With sanity intact and live, I've

Few tools but they must serve:

I cauterise, externalise,

Analyse and systemise.

On occasion don a

Milder face which confuses,

Giving, while my foe a

Moment muses, a brief 

Respite, too brief but still 

Of priceless calm a taste.

These are the tools I've 

Learned to use 

To toss the terrors

Back down the well.

All I do is done in haste,

For I fear my limit's nearly 

Here and that Death may

Yet become my last career.

But until it's certain, until 

Falls the curtain, I am 

Determined to send Chaos'

Minions o'er the lip and 

Down the dread well, so that  

They, not I, are welcomed to 

Go drown in Hell.