Twin snakes berthed on the wrists
One born of innocence, one born of sin
One lies asleep, the other awake
With a lidless stare and a restless ache

Tongue twists between forever and for naught
The heart yearns to reach the momentous, often cited fraud
‘Impossibility,’ the serpent screams
‘The unproven disease’

Slithers on the spot
In perpetuity
With a ceaseless speech
I follow completely

In my wake
Is dust and death
The once conscious snake
Has become rotting flesh
Upon my right
The other stirs
Fat and swollen, it smiles
Calling itself sin