Serpents of My Soul

February 14, 2011
Seven snakes that slither
Red roses that wither
And yet,
The surface seems
To heal itself again.
Every time I ever see you
Oh, how I so long to be you
Safe and certain,
Open curtain
Oh, my dear complacent friend.
Im sure that you may snicker
But these seven snakes that slither
Show no single sign of humor
Just beyond their scaly skin.
And never have I ever said
That when I rest my fragile head
The tick tock of my mind
Wont whisper
"Sin. Sin. Sin."
So even as I lie here,
Though I'd prefer to die here,
I hang on by this thread
To all that will be
And has been.

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