ANTE MORTEM (Brumous Aim—Enclosed.)

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ POISONOUS FIGMENT OF SENTIENCE ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ Mortals   are    priggish,   ensnared   by
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ holier-than-thou    complacency.    (Not
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ true.)  Yet  they  walk   along  the  lines,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ here   to.  beseech,  fond   of  pledging.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ “Sun-gleam    bleeds     through      their
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ sights   while   kismet    strides.” ..(𖤓)..

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ────────────────────────
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  [ ..࿇.. ]

To bleed, to vow, to be tormented with every nightfall that devours my cherished firmament. THEY LAMENT (lament, lament) to  the  one  unseen  yet  undeniably ever-present. A vast,  enigmatic  void  from  nowhere—still,  faith  is  solemnly  proclaimed. Some  mortals invest in belief, while others fragment their souls like extinguished  stars. In  this  dissonance,  angels  and demons  vie  to  captivate  those whose souls dangle by  a  thread, teeter  on  the  brink. They shall  opt for the sake of fleeting pleasure and solace, for they are continuously  burdened  by  the  weight  of countless desires,  hopelessly  pleading  for   the  dimmed  sun to wane and  the celestial  gleam to blaze anew. Yet, those  born  of  flames  shall  descend, lured  by  the ephemeral ecstasy that springs from  unquenchable thirst.  Believing     eternal     triumph    rests    within  their  grasp,  they   are   tragically  beguiled—sweetly  ensnared,  and  their  tongue  slashed  until  no taste remains  but  the acrid, bitter essence of  blood that courses  unceasingly,  perpetually, even  beyond  the veil  of  mortality. Mortals  are  faced  with  a  choice between  two  portals:  the  terrestrial  realm  or  the enigmatic afterlife—neither eternal nor previously beheld. Enshrouded within a cradle of mystery, akin to an interminable labyrinth, they are engulfed in tenebrous gloom and a visage marred by turmoil.

“BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL,
WHERE TO, DEAR MORTALS?”
(Declared: Book of Eternity, XVIII)

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