I have marzipan shaped like a hammer to battle the mudslide-minded golem,
Always hope for a little, quick stammer but pause with a tongue-arresting whole "um."
And a stuttering slop of a walk on a road that hates feet has been my precept;
I am harried to bear the full terror of terrible things without a peace kept.
Heart is beating with tenor of nay-saying coward to pace the fade of progress.
Every needle, baton--or a poisonous myrmex--that hurt me had no eustress.