Everyone thinks there's something. Everyone believes that the gods know them personally, sympathies with them on a minuscule level.
I like to pull people out from there delusions as I reap them out from this world making sure to let them know
if there are gods theyβre not going to save you.
I have the power to take you in any fashion, your name was marked and so you go
I never know who goes where and honestly I donβt care.
Those at peace melt away like liquid sugar on the tongue they are absorbed into the air sinking like honey into bread,
and others that fight me shatter like glass. They're ground into nonexistance,
Poor *******.
I cry a silent cry of anguish I'm never relieved through tears. Instead the agony drops into my heart forming an ocean vast.
Too vast.
The struggle against suffering is for the healthy, and those who dive into that pool let themselves drown, swallowing pain, memories, and disappointment until their lungs are too full.
When they open their mouths sending out their final battle cry against life their own voice is strewn with the voices of many, the voice of all others before them who have chosen this path of destruction.
Only the first to enter had the privilege to let their voice be heard in that last and final scream as they sank down into the darkness lost forever from life and even eluding me.
They were in a place where no man wishes to go, where fate has no hold and death and life quiver before the decimation that awaits the two biggest killers of mankind.
All are accepted into that bleak and glorious place, and those who do not receive their penance while others are forced through their own will to take upon themselves the responsibility to inflict horrors to their body, spirit and soul.
Those who start on their own path of death with his assistance experience something much worse than what I would have devised for you,
we are ourselves the worst of enemies.
Death now thinks back. He isnt finished in his work, but there are times when he broods, its in his nature.