Searing pain in the chest,
Longing for inclusion, for aid.
Rather a stab wound than be subject to,
Rejection.
Rather I touch fire than long,
Yet my eyes wander and nerves shake me,
Into the caged mist,
Like a cornered animal.
Any god would know I attempt,
Though I still wade in comfort,
Coddled by self mutilation.
The snake seeks refuge in the throat,
Thrashing as it sinks lower in the body,
Slamming each time against the lungs,
Desperate to escape this prison,
Decorated with dirt and sleepless nights.
My breath is stolen by its scales,
Bleeding out in mute acceptance.
