Facing the hesternal flames so fiercely adumbrating the pages of tribulation.
Behold myself descending into the chasm, rupturing the surges of apprehension.
Twisting inside its momentum towards annihilation, towards the circular conclusion of a flawed paradigm.
Why rebel against time as a gesture of impiety, for your struggle is less compelling than the raindrops rippling in the rivers.
Nevertheless, to be a witness in a silent and serene spire is to be already bereft of life.
Becoming a perfect embodiment of failure like the rest of your kind.
