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