It buries him undead,
inside the hollow his pain howls in silence
yearning for a speck of change.
His breath comes to a halt, no rhythm of pneuma
Surrounding darkness swallows his vision to appease its hunger
A man yet lives, undead.

It stabs and bleeds him undead,
a ruthless spear that continuously spikes through the heart  
is what it calls mercy.
His bloodstream gushes out -  tranquil as the tides of the night river.
But life simply stays as life.
A man yet lives, undead.

It burns him undead,
inundating him with abysmal depths of fire
he writhes and writhes in agony -
There is no room for any emotion, other than pain
A man yet lives, undead.

That Life has become Death,
is this the true burden of suffering?
He remains unsure, but lives on
undead