The Patterned Tomb

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Lattice of bone shape the walls.

Crushed skulls line these halls.

Grinded to dust as they may be.

Break the wrong ones and the evil will be set free.

The bones never stall, nor end.

This isn’t a simple game of pretend.

Every new death creates several new bricks.

They’re somewhat easy to break, but not like stones and sticks.

I swear that these dim halls can talk.

Their spirits are still here; they love to creep and stalk.

Stalk by day, kill by night.

When they touch you, you’ll die from fright.

Goodnight sweet blessed lost souls.

I have lost my battle to the relentless ghouls.

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