Tattered souls congealed, paintings on  purgatories
skyline, never are they falling just lingering.

Stitched with blunt needles, there tears shine on those
in gorged  form. Saturating other within their afflictions.

Tearing upon hollow forms they evaporate like reversed
snow flakes corrupted, they fuse regrettably with the skyline.

Others look upon there regrettable existence, and see
the clouds of their meaning, its only a matter on time.