Phobia


Why can't you write something happy?
Why are you so dramatic?
What did I ever do to you?
You poor, tortured serpent.
You lying snake in the grass.
Your fears all sleep inside of you,
Laying eggs and multiplying.
The pressure coils and constricts,
Suffocating your airways.
Spreading from cold, dead limbs,
Slithering down a shivering spine,
Monsters hiss in the caverns of your heart.
But oh what a smile can hide.

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