Shape me

If(!) If and only(!)
you let me lonely
I may think of death...

Mind is weaker than faith
for it sees the true hell
where senseless lives summon the wraith
of rich and successful smell.

End tastes foully
maybe fast or slowly
but stealing our breath.

Honey, keep me in line
give me shape and form
abide me tears of whine
or, I believe(!), I'll drown in storm!

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