Precision

With chilling Precision
I was cloven, shorn, sliced,
unchosen.

i saw her crushed form.
Ashen. but if i am no craven,
Why do i cower?

i have gazed in the toothy maw of death,
seen Rapturous decay, and
Wretched existence - the old wounds renewed bleeding.

If i am no craven,
why linger in the cold?
Crying out to be left unheard;
reaching out to find only
mocking wisps of shadow to hold?

i navigate these tangled webs, blind.
Not by the fate, but by choice;
the moon's fury I could stand no longer.

the bower of my sanity is fallen,
the wings of my youth shredded,
Frailty is me,
with Loathsome resemblance.

Trapped in this forest, i run no longer.

The jaws around me grin crudely.
So,

under a starless night,
my heartbeat
Quickens       (chosen)
then is
Still.