hands like snakes
slithering through silence
quiet as the mouse it consumes
taking hold of the meek
the unsuspecting
their doe-eyed innocence
transformed
now as bitter as the emerald apple
when I close my eyes
I won't see his hands on her face
the human clock
tick...
tock.
a nauseating roadmap.
the calender blows kisses
as it flips through it's pages
cloaking me behind walls
built on knowledge
born from the embers of love
burned away by your humanity
maybe if I take enough aimless walks
I'll find direction
touching your heart
licking my wounds
setting my watching to the ball drop
praying over the compass
to cage the serpent
