Fateful Reign

Black poison mist overrides mystery moonbeams in misery, the howling of beast and worms swallow the remnants of your hollow sphere. Do the parts of our end qualify the price of your beginnings? Are you a worthless apostle, sinner sadist or saint? Which side of a human canvas reveals your paint? We'd like to be Dorian, impervious to faint before that torrid portrait, its touch never to taint. Immortality is a trance, a worthless dance that treads a death like an impermanent romance, deeds doth done. A lost path to that paradise of exalted traitors, evildoers, users and takers, all and none.