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Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: A happy sonnet
From: Michael Young <youngdh@mwr.kic.or.jp>
Date: Sun, 11 May 1997 15:33:42 GMT

As I walk down these hallowed halls
I glance around and see the chains
The racks, the pokers, the pointed balls
And other instruments of pain.

The blood, it flows like dripping rain
Upon the cheerfully carpeted floor.
I try to leave, but try in vain
Because there is no door.

With ragged tones of death they cry and scream
Until that awful, final day.
From shoulders and hips their limbs are reamed
And fall to the floor, to be carted away.

"Where is this place?", you ask quietly.
You're already there.  Welcome to reality.

					--Michael Young, talk.bizarre