They say, a snake is born as a snake. But little did they know that it was them who forced a poison into a worm's mouth. And it bit them. And they cried.
When they dress you in a white shirt and put you in an asylum, why not go crazy after all? You wear the shirt anyway.
As a cold snake on your sweetest August night, I will slither around your ankles just to quench my thirst. I will poison your dreams and feed from your dread.
And when there will be nourish no more, I will climb the world's highest peak, just to jump from it. And as I fall, I will cackle with my hands tied in my clothes.
They fear from the horror that they bred. Try to ban it from the world. Try to cut the besom in two. But a witch has more than one broom in her closet. She will fly anyway.
Because it was you who dressed me in a white shirt. Now you're going to watch me wear it.
YOU ARE READING
Stream of thoughts flowing in blank space
ПоэзияSome thoughts shouldn't get lost in the echo of the blank nothingness.
