The air weighs heavily on my skin

Moisture weighs on my now damp clothes

A faint smell of death is maliciously creeping into my nostrils 

In the distance a lone water drop hits the ground

The sound echoes eerily lingering a little too long

Scuttering insects infest every nook and cranny 

The walls themselves almost look alive

Their old, decrepit stone skin crawling in every direction

There is only one respite from seemingly endless darkness

A lantern cries and wails as it sways back and forth 

Hopelessly burning on borrowed time 

Waiting to die

Waiting to die the same death everything does

The air itself feels dead yet smells alive

Only the walls themselves know what they hold

The corridor stretching on and on into the void

Stone chisels and imperfections tell a story of time

Time now long lost to distant memories and bones

As the water droplet’s desperate echo fades

So does any semblance of hope in the air