Hipster pony poetry

The feeling starts along my crest.

Then a shiver - sensual in its cool thrill - weaves up my spine

Anticipation, knowing.

It is coming.

It won't be long now, until I can barely scratch out a plea for help.

But even if Celestia were to receive my message, she could not reverse it.

Knowing, shaking.

It is coming.

I step outside into the chilly autumn, briskly trotting around my home.

My thick walls cannot keep it from me.

Waiting, biding.

It is coming.

Then the taste enters my mouth. Not the metal taste of fear...

more a sickly, cloying taste. I return inside.

Clenching, choking.

It is coming.

My magic spasms. My quill trembles. Time passes.

I wait. It does not.

Coming, faster.

It is coming.

My breath sticks in my throat.

My heartbeat races.

It is coming.

It is coming.