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Death At Work (All Null)
Division of Mind
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Scourge to the skin rips from the body and lays it bare.
A surface coheres - the murky reflection of an alien stare.
Trembling with sickness - a heaving mass under absent weight.
Your withering form does not have the stomach to hate how I hate.
No fragile posture to save you now.
Echoing, your cries ring out.
Your fear reflects off of everything.
An empty whimper spills from your mouth.
Nothing left to see - no new tale to tell -
With each layer of silence it constructs your hell.
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