Awaiting the Endless Dismay

Her vacant breath beside me; a fallow gateway through a harrowing demise. Truth be told I'm a Slave to my own passion, a withholding regime to which I preach divine. Resting upon a sinful pinnacle my spine tattered and torn; concave to a yearning delicacy I lay. A shimmer of divinity overtaken by the lucidity of hellish intent wanders forsaken introvert. Bearing these shackles of bereavement dissolves judgment of a higher purpose, an eradicated envisioning. I convolute these invasive virtues subsequently to a grasp incognito. Awaiting the endless dismay, yet entering the endless distress.