Descending further from the light of god.
A dark and dismal overlook.
Carving through the chasm, a black river floods the ground.
The formation of Styx.
A vile marshland.
Toward the gray shores, a rocky path of nightmares leads to the bogs.
Entrenched on the surface of the tenebrous muck are piles of men.
Savage with anger and naked in slime.
Tearing at each other piecemeal with their teeth.
The souls of those who lived in Wrath.
Subdued beneath the mire, the gloomy, the slothful, the forlorn.
Heedless souls turned away by god.
Bubbles gurgle up from sludge, breaking the surface.
The sullen choke out lamentations.
Though with unbroken words they cannot speak as the squalid mud and water floods their throats.
A life of hostility
A life of self induced misery
A life of animosity
Just a hang up life.
Meet fate in the depths of Styx

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