The Goblin Cave
Goblins fester in dark wombs,
Their dormant grey-blue bodies in a grotesquely acrobatic tuck,
Until the Reaper’s toll animates their waxen limbs and begins their descent.
Fresh spongey fingers lacerate the red moss coating of the cave walls,
As blind eyes desperately seek the white air.
With every movement their black claws siphon sanguine ooze that drips like the leaking of foul preserves from a shattered jar.
Velvety vines of algae fall on nascent corpses like wet spider webs, entagling cyanotic legs in the now sputtering moss.
Goblin palms, in the throws of consciousness, are slashed by defiant stalgmites and
The cave floor sizzles with the unholy mixing of the bloods of animal and mineral.
Yet still they scramble on to the tunnel’s end, desperately following the light's sirenic beckonings.
The perverse crowning of goblin heads emits dizzying shrieks,
A horrible brightness seeps into their closed eyes as if voles being plucked from their dens.
Warm air poisons their damp, opalescent skin and with a final cosmic snap their they are expelled from the petrous hollow.
Their wails deafen any who pass as they crawl through alien worlds, forever searching for a familiar haunt.