I see death waiting,
Lurking just beyond the yellow line.
I see it swaying gently on a rope,
The veil is thin now—finally, I see through.
Where is my Azrael?
Will the Grim reap me apart?

Obitual calls,
I stand here, yearning for freedom.
These thoughts, old companions,
Rush through me with sharp adrenaline,
A familiar, manipulative embrace.

My own hands paint the destroyer of men,
An unwanted masterpiece,
Drawn with my blood,
So vivid that God is my light,
Welcome, Uriel.
Illuminate the path for the ******.

Should I let go,
Surrender to the abyss?
Or endure the torment,
Reigning over a throne built on deceptions?

Did Jophiel carve my agony?
It is exquisite, cruelly so;
Leaving cut marks on my hands,
Every scar bleeding a new chapter.
Years spent choking on the weight of a flaming sword,
Its edge pressed tight against my throat.
One final push would release the fury,
And drown me in silence.