Poison is rarely good for the soul.
Does it course through your veins?
Do you guide it with prowess?
This wild beast, which stays wild when at your glance.
Do you guide it with prowess?
This wild beast, which stays wild when at your glance.
Is it boredom that leads you to provoke the embers of its toxicity?
Is it now natural to feel the erotic burn on your lips, when Eros is vapid?
Is it now natural to feel the erotic burn on your lips, when Eros is vapid?
The acrid taste in your mouth, which slowly chips away at those around you.
This shape shifting toxic vapour.
This shape shifting toxic vapour.
If only it was a liquid, in a tube emblazoned with crossed bones and a skull.
To placate the expected…to palate the venom when you see the twisted contortions of a snake and its fangs in the shadows.
To placate the expected…to palate the venom when you see the twisted contortions of a snake and its fangs in the shadows.
To sit calmly, meditation in your safe circle, to be awoken with the odour of sulphur and a burn that seeps through your pinna.
The unbearable betrayal.
The unbearable betrayal.
Poison is rarely good for the soul.
© PEDRO-BATPOET 2018
Pedro Batpoet 