Last night I truly had a peculiar dream.

But maybe you cannot call it a dream but more of a desire.

A desire that could truly make you scream.

In the dream that was not really a dream but a desire.

A rainbow of darkness flashed through the sky.

Black as death, red as blood, and as brown as ash.

And the vultures nested there with a mighty cry.

In the dream that was not truly a dream but a desire.

Horses of bone ate the flesh of a once might army.

I walked along the path that was set not once afraid.

I had truly gone frightfully barmy.

In the dream that was not truly a dream but a desire.

The sight made me shudder in rapture.

As the screeches of ravens flew through the sky.

It was the innocent that I had to capture.

In the dream that was not truly a dream but a desire.

It was a world that the demons had been born in.

A world with plains of sand and rivers of molten lava.

Heat unbearably high that it would burn thy skin.

In this dream that was not truly a dream but a desire.

And you must be thinking how can I find this a desire.

But the fact that I woke up yearning for it should suffice.

I must not be the one you should admire.

For I desire the devils and deaths own wish.