Have I been bitten
By the deadly venom of a snake?
One who has written
The fate of my fair heart's ache?
One who wants to ensure
The black death of my happiness?
My optimism to become so bleak, no more
My friendships to turn to loneliness?
Perhaps the ophidian
Wants me in its never-ending coils,
To turn my vision to obsidian,
To make my lungs spoil.
What could be the motive
For this slick, slimy, scoundrel?
Did it have such a votive
As to make me seem a mongrel?
I guess it just wanted me
To live in my head so crepuscular.
So abusive, convulsive, aggravative,
Completely unhoped for.
No one but me
Knows of this collusion.
For here is the key
As to why it is delusion.
YOU ARE READING
drops of water on a blade of grass
PoetryI'm a white flower that has been stained by the pollution of humanity.
