Terrors

I sat my pen down at last the coursing thoughts of nevermore cascade like tears down the brazen cheek of the boar and I pour into yore the ink running hotfooted for the door my last hurrah it is my life to take I brushed my hair and set my face my son, who is me woe is me mercy in the field a breath and a shot ringing in my ears the last laugh of laughs I felt my breast cupped and my spirit was lifted my body was made a thing amorous and I relaxed but it was not the peace of a quieted, still soul it was the unwinding of death the curled venom incarnate that had burrowed into my neck is too far gone at last my strings are harped upon will I taste death before my transformation, in it, or after? I find reasons to trust that all possibilities are anguish so I sit in pangs of standards a standard greeting a banner bleating I am one dressed in wool you take me a fool but my suicide is honorable you would a cad over a tool I'd rather the thread of the spool bind up your wish-washy cobblestone slapped together and kept in the nether neither of the two would do so I sleep and perchance find ways to allow the creeping out of my thoughts the words that were bought I am the handmaiden in the suit of armor crying-honor