As above, mostly below.

I am the one who is wrong

wretch, scouring blindly into nothingness

Flesh obscured by purification of ages,

To bare the burden of eternal blackness,

Is this what it means to achieve catharsis

Air turned stagnant, soiled and sullen

Further down this nest the air is scarce

Organs turned dark and riddled with abscess

How I long to writhe with the maggots

Marrow weakened, scraping the abyss

Gaunt fingers clutch longingly at the dirt

But your time is up and the earth resists

The last of cold flames have ceased

Now eyeless, a deformation you abscond alone

Sculptors of loss on their knees await you

Scorn! You've ruptured these networks below

If only you knew what was waiting all this time

beneath your very feet, you would be made to crawl like ants

as the last of your skies faded to black