Sinners.

The wanders of hell are ready visitors.
Their welcoming talons, as cold as their heart
which lays stagnate in their empty chest,
Are ready to Caresse the tender warm flesh,
In which we are trapped.

From their mouths drip the promises of many miscreant,
Which poisons the very air they breath.
Their hollow breath falls from their deformed jaws.
It warms the ground the tread on,
Burning the flesh from under my feet.

They are sucking the life out of each vein,
Leaving slow tumble-weeds roll through your heart.
But this is the end for each one of you sinners,
A life i am destined.

FtW.