The book is small, simple. Bound with a plain brown cover, faded ink once marking a name on the front. The pages inside are disorganised, many illegible with the majority of pages damaged in some form to some degree. In amongst the myriad of useless excerpts, a few pages in neat Axolotian stand out. On which are poems of varying types - of which many carry a depressing tone.
Scuttling gently on undisturbed earth, An emerald carapace shines with hope, But so soon to find itself at a dearth, As around its neck falls a length of rope, And though it may rush and though it may fly, It has caught the eye of the beast of eight, And though it may crawl and though it may cry, Its dear life is caught in the web of fate, Held now in the grasp of chitinous arms, Mandibles begin to embrace its form, And now in its head ring silent alarms, As painful feelings begin to swarm, And though it may fight and though it may try, It is in the jaws of the beast of eight, And though it may bite and though it may pry, The ferryman lies in unfeeling wait, Now it is I who walks on untouched earth, Once-bright scales dim as I walk on this path, Moving ever closer to jaws of eight, And pondering how I’ve fallen this far.
