Attribute, Attribute second death

The sticky air
can no longer be expelled from the chest.
It is the breath of the swamp
that is near and everywhere.
They will remain in the twilight of the realm of faceless souls. This is their destiny.
They've lost their way.
They're rooted to the ground.
There are only cowardice and sadness among the flowers of asphodel.
From now on, time is only a countdown of the beats of the fading flesh, which has accepted the death of the spirit.
There's one of the paths that leads to the decay of nature after its trauma . The nature that could not make a choice between light and darkness.
In a stream of submissive concessions, not to live, but to react, indulging their own weaknesses, feeding the impotence inside.
Wandering from wall to wall in oblivion, giving up peace to fear and waiting for a second death.
The spirit will fall first, and that will be the beginning of the end. And those who have been broken will truly accept their first death.
For the second death is just fate. This is the result of every life. So it was and so it will be.
The light of dawn goes out inevitably, dissolving the darkness deep inside.
Deep inside, in their empty bodies, the crash will be echoed.
The gaze smolders, keeping a silent cry.
Self-destruction is the dead end.
The executioner will see his victim in the reflection of the mirror.
Hope is burned in torches, generating only a fume, not a light, for those who do not seek refuge, but build a crypt around themselves.
Their suffering is negligible.
Lies are hidden by pleading.
They're screaming for a second death.
The final ritual, guided by sorrow!