Burn away thy face,
Wash the vile sickness into deep space,
Leave your purified soul to wander,
Without thought or capability.

There won't be anything to miss,
Plagued by the desire of our vessel,
If only we lived on air,
Even without withering away,
We'd be free from mortal waste.

Abyss slips its fingers round our neck,
Violently cold and comfortingly coarse,
It squeezes till fear bubbles out and pops with great force,
Leaving us to a silent debate.
Without my tangible form,
We can do naught but think,
Endless torment in NeverEnding chaos.
Release is stuck, impossible,
When my hands and mouth are obsolete,
For there is no pen I can possibly hold,
And no words accompanying.

Regret is imminent,
Yet regardless of how we repent,
This curse we brought upon ourselves
Will bind us separately.