After

Torpor of ambition,

An atrophy–

The flame of dead sinews,

Fume up the haze of bile.

When does it end?

The outer void of boiling death,

Frozen and gas-ripped flesh–

Breathless words silent,

Glass shattered through the black.

Tired of wanting–

A gasp in a choking cloud,

Flesh melting away while it burns,

Rendered to nothing but ash.

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