Python

There is nothing in this world but mist,

blanketing over exposed convulsions and…

lulling our lungs to calm against our raging will.

 

Calm is a universe,

so separate from this -me-

so presumably occupied that it is left to loneliness in Her sadistic romance.

 

Worn out;

Our eyes struggle to make home within our mist,

they remain closed in wakeful struggles –

never seeing the colors surrounding our often too narrow grey paths which;

in the arrest of guilty breaths all lead to one central eden.

 

This guilt,

this… gift;

received with so little resistance is often no more than a domesticated python.

So why not tame it?

Re-name it… make it yours… own it and see;

a python does not revel in eating souls as a hobby.