I feel sorry for this person. I really do.
Their reality is a nightmare concoction equal parts reaching and equal parts failing to grasp the answer to the inaudible question in the quiescent still voice loud as white water rapids in the place were rest an attenuated spirit in soul. The crescendo of which is but the emptying out a full brown bag of cats, claws spinning in terror full of scratching fire and fear. We are but left the dead heart of a cold revenant. All love undulating sub solar against the moon has been gone unfound as part of what is lost when nothing hanging really is gained in the inevitable bargain in balance insaned. No more than a diaphonous lie rinsed away leaving us in degrees of naked as we churn trauma into gold sharp and bold having such matricidal hate that upon the heel smote it’s undoing is the serpent of fate.
It’s not death that the snakehead death cult adherents fear. It’s the imperceptible end the close of night over fly or fight back an abyss in the inevitable bargain thinned wool like by gnawing moth and rouge rust on brass bust the besmurched treasure with entropy aiming time and woe. And as the lie slips from The Fauntleroy knee high knickers is the beginning to deshabille the end. In manifold richly deep the ignorance of lightlessness are so many emperors imbecile themselves the entitled idiot whose nakedness is the intermittent power of light against chaos darkening wing horizon. So with the rational mind of blade pulled for parting we will die not even knowing that they knew they were telling a lie.
To lead having full knowledge of a death of no returning worse than dying is to act evil in carelessness of the obsidian expanse and consuming malignancy .