Bodies fold in this smoulder, emptying the air from out their heads, evacuating the lingering dread that inside they're already dead.
Souls writhe in this disorder, touching anything that they can, reverberating the color red as the blue fire slowly gets colder.
From where
Did this
Empti  
             ness
Find
A wish
That arms
Could bear?
Every atom clashes, and in this disarray, ecstasy establishes a Winter King's reign.
As these fingers touch this skin, reason goes insane. Following the heat, as aimless as the rain.
How
Does one
Conjoined
Within
Reach  
            out
To heal
To mend?

Whispering denials in the grips of evidence,
The body draws to pleasures in lieu of spiritual penance