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The words in silence, spew from my mouth in anguish. I am torment rendered flesh, watching threadbare lines of triumph, swaying fragile in the winter.

Upon a raised dais, lay dead all that were dear. Their corpses knelt in place, atrophied arms outstretched.

In eternal longing to touch the altar of this memory. A life held so fragile, lost to eternal obscurity...

Death is no end, only this phase overt and critical. Before and after I am judged. This is truly the end of me.

The ashen woods darken, as the curtain falls...

In a black room, where all are judged. Leaving behind a world, where no mark remains. So few stay praised. So many return to nothing. Our time is compressed, the end always looming...

A caress of the blade, gleaming in scarlet. A welcoming hand offered, ushered into the dark...