A Morning Battle

Staring over the steaming fumes,
prophetic wisps, tendrils of the muck,
rising up and twisting in her nose,

Eyes bloodshot,
covers torn asunder,
an empty bed lays in ruins,

Thundering up the mountainside,
a beast more massive than God,
And she alone could hear its horrendous roars,

Reverberating flames,
deafeningly suffocating crackles,
each one a battering ram from within her skull,

"I alone am left to die,"
muttering down into her cupped hands,
soaking in the toxic warmth of slaves,

The bells began to toll,
as she lifted her eyes to meet her foe,
Stained with gunk and emotion, she gripper her pen,

Aiming to rip the beast open,
to spread its guts among the walls,
A shield maiden of ink and paper,

"I'm ready to go to Valhalla."