Maybe
Lake of sulfur
Brimstone throne
Dust coats
Dead fires
Leaves no smoke
Cant breath
Wont choke
This death it covers
Like too small of cloak
The fire hovers, smothers
Ashes soot
Lung full of powder
Blistered cooked
Bones turn to timber
Sharp shards
Saw like flame
Burned to cinder
Last flakes
Shrivel and burn
All that’s left
Notta enough for an urn
Charred evidence
Lost remnants
Wind scatters
All that matters
Haunting laughter
Follows after
My disaster
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