Death’s Wrathful Tendencies Haunt a Soulless Breath
Life shall cease to exist better than in the whiteness of a placid sky, a sinner lives an eternal lie demeaning his forgiveness over dying inside. A breath spoken to a voice whistling the winds of death’s reaping breath for haunting his anxiety. The clash of thunderous clouds wrath darkness with violent intensity upon his restless night, a damning soul’s dawning for an aching heart weighs the damnation of suicidal thought, tormenting a harshly torn mentality.
Purpose fades, shading eyes lit with a past of adoration, while loss depicts his misery day after day. Painstakingly does a foreshadowing of himself leave an ill-emotional state of disillusionment atop his most concerning brow. Half the man that he used to portray, blankly drawn from the depths of no regrettable remorse, and timelessness lessens as if a future might foretell differently a dying breed.
Death’s unforgivable tendencies haunts even the vision of a peaceful soul, remising a life once lived through the enjoyments of every drawn breath forsaken.