What's the road to hell like? Have you ever wondered? Not the pathway, or the way to get there But simply the walk down that road. Does it have gravel and stone? Or Is it flaring up in flames as we're often told? I see what seems like a commotion From a distance Bystanders watching on Her screams, her wails Are left unheard As she's yet again disrobed. Amidst the gathering I spot a young lass Her eyes flicker to mine Her gaze holds volumes of words But her mouth reins her behind. As I walk on I witness a woman A transgender woman Staring at me And my freshly plucked fruit I reach out to offer And she moves along to accept Only till we both realise She's handless. I suddenly feel a gentle tug By a child who refuses to look up For his eyes are transfixed On his gadget in hand A slave to technology Just a year old But he's already a man. I then see A man on a treadmill Starving for some rest He never stops running And I wonder why Until I realise His feet are bound to the instrument, He can't stop till he chooses to die. Then appears the master of all Satan himself Beckoning me As he holds up a mirror For me to see All of this has been caused by me.