Terminal Deity

Something is slowing me down. It makes its way through my arms, through these fatigued worn fingers in fury-fevered lashings of claw. I somehow manage to gain the strength it takes to emit its evils onto the page. Blood-soaked desperate one-sided attempts into the chill of all words. Let the sloth be told of horrid torment, to watch him plagued in thought for all of our years. In every time, a star of hope is shining its regards. A sparkle of vain mockery, in these pained attempts of self-alleviation to convert from the monster.