Биография

I'm stuck in upturned stomach swamp, horse sat on my head. But something hurt it, squealed and stomped. Before me it was dead. 
 Rolled over into humid caves of grey hypnotic hue and stared blankly at paintings of scenes that everybody knew 
 Your piercing cry reverberates, a painful tone in key of hate. I walk fast by, I must be late but some object caught my eye. 
 An obelisk in stark contrast With blackened, pearly gate. Not the first but not the last Dark Monolith, my past, my fate.