Fangs of fatal poison,
protect me through scaled skin,
the cold, glacial current in brumal veins,
malevolent state of affairs root venomous outcomes,
vexation infused vertebrae,
slither below the surface,
explode in a fit of fury and defensive intentions,
all control lost in the moment, the python shakes,
at the blood burning sensation astir,
smashed debris that in rumor, stood full in tact,
nothing subsides and contentment feels alike to a myth,
toxicity subsides and heat becomes chilled again,
slither away so no threat comes to another,
isolate to habitat and,
sit in protection so the blood sit brumal forever more,
Once I am back, I become a serpent again,
cold and alone.
About the Creator
Lilian Wicca
In a world of lovely things we often find ourselves surrounded by endings. If I am to end someday, I'd like to be buried with the words of my thoughts
I'm a 19 year old poet, I love to write about love/death.
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