The Descent
Everything is going round,
Like the echoes of a sound,
In concentric circles made,
By traveling in a cascade,
Tighter turns the further in,
Circling hell’s original sin,
Sloth and worshipping idling,
Burning bridges into kindling,
Circle around the pit of doom,
At the reception booking room,
Playing dull music on a repeat,
Devoid of a tune or a good beat,
Circling round the ear purgatory,
The sad sound of a dying story,
In the lobby of the under world,
No welcome mat is lying unfurled,
Broken vending machines decay,
Selling everything but you can’t pay,
Out of order toilets for everyone,
Just a cracked bucket to sit upon,
An unfriendly welcoming desk calls,
Surrounded by odour that appals,
Disinterested questioning follows,
Answers the computer just swallows,
Ending with a burning key passed,
Scalding skin with pain coming fast,
A metal door opens to a corridor,
Vile carpet makes your feet raw,
Patterns seem to slither around,
Like snakes writhing on the ground,
Your room in hell is number 6 6 6,
Lovely views over the river Stix,
Television without the remote,
And the bed sheet smells of goat,
We hope you enjoyed your stay,
At the budget travel lodge today.
Part Dalek 