Charred Coffin of Chains

My only pure and shameful ambition,
Is striving for the final aspect of these blueprints.

I cant remember not yearning for the iron curtains close,
The lid pressed down on me and sealed tight,
To feel warmth enough to melt me down,

I lit up these different sources as substitute,
Oblivious that they might be used to bind me on ignition,

I became a hollow screaming forge begging for fuel,
Reality would cool me down to the frozen ground,

Resisting the thaw of my ironbound prison,

As I was barely contained in a broken mould,
I became an architect to greater designs.

Spent a decade smithing this mortal coil,
Pressing past and ignoring its impurities,
Only to find it compromised by my tempering,
The links bound to me began to weigh me down,
Those same circles formed into twisted chain links,
And I could not steel myself against their frigid touch,
As I looked beneath me I could see no end, 

I heard the melodic clanking as i was dragged down,

Grating my flesh into something easily buried,

Finally.