Vines of persistence wrap around to squeeze me tightly, choking and cloaking my existence from the divine shining light streams.
From the depths of what I have left, I leave thee this sublime kindly writing, to let it be told over to you that I fear this nadir confining so inviting. For that which was a welcome embrace has become a peril that I find frightening.
An irascible beast tears me away from my rapture, it's claws ripping in their tightening.
Good Knight! I scream.
Virago, you must let me go!
Don't you know these roots hold me here and try to imprison my very soul? Are you aware that I've always been restless in this deed , at least until my movement ceased, grown weary by the cold?
Oh, to be as a tree petrified a thousand years ago. Yes, tenfold of a deep century ago.
What woe! What woe!
Well then, just consume me, it's thy selfish need to grow, despite what it means to me, a descent into a place so low; and you know, even tho it's cold, viscous words can burn like an internal sea of hellish fire: pain overwhelms me, but a morbid curiosity still fans this desire.
God, save me from the mire! God, let her have remorse!
Soon tentacles will protrude into my wan corpse -pulling me into a crevasse- which is a pit in the fabric that my body no sooner than distorts; and as swift as this with a vacuous kiss you'll steal my mass, as brains for one will become the main course.