| Moss grew over my eyes, and the roots went to my brain,
|
| down my throat, through
|
| my knees, and out my toes. |
| There will be no salvation.
|
| A perspective struggles
|
| for air, engulfed by the earth’s healing scab. |
| Let the
|
| dirt pour from the
|
| inside of my skull, as I am excavated from the burning
|
| wreckage. |
| My torso opens
|
| to reveal a mass grave, exhuming the skeletons buried
|
| in my chest. |
| Why must
|
| there be illumination upon this festering pile? |
| Cursing
|
| that which wakes me. |
| I coil to make my nest, to hide my scales from the light.
|
| I have not yet had my time in the sun. |
| There will be no salvation, for I am the serpent doomed to crawl on my stomach. |
| Slithering beneath your feet and
|
| between your toes.
|
| Learning your minds, mimicking your frivolity. |
| But all
|
| jubilation is mine in the end. |
| Basilisk fangs glistening in the sun’s final
|
| rays, to alleviate a radial hatred, ancient and hypnotic. |
| Staining your
|
| lives and all the earth with
|
| a bitterness, subtle and unbearable, yet tangible at the very base of your
|
| mind. |
| A worm becomes a king. |
| Arising to crush the crown
|
| of God. |
| Eternally
|
| dispelling my misery to permeate through every molecule
|
| of life that pulses
|
| over this planet. |
| The sun burns blinding red before
|
| eternally ceasing its
|
| graceful shine. |
| In a serpent’s mouth the earth shall be swallowed whole. |
| And we will ask ourselves before we finally die: How miserable
|
| is the light that
|
| shines into my eyes? |