Wardrobe

Minor keys descending

herald of our doom

Soundtrack for the march of time

Serpents in quicksilver and smell of voodoo

spill from monastery gates

You’ve made me what I am

and I curse you for it

No purpose for a final chapter

to a tale already ended

in every way that matters

No thread of subtext to pull

that will revive this garment

All raiments have been cast to dust