How is it that they work they way into new beautiful things, wrap themselves around them, and squeeze until their is no sign of life?
Dark, and slithery like snakes we breed in darker parts of our minds.
Eating every last thing we fill ourselves with until the emptiness finds its way home again.
And them we push, and pull, and fight to untangle all the mangled rubble left over
but all there is, is snakes.
Where did that happiness go
Why would they do this
Snakes
and old lovers
Snakes
and lost chances
Snakes
and nostalgia
Snakes
and scars
Snakes
and pasts
Filthy pasts
Filthy Snakes.
