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My Kingdom of Venom
On my bed of cobras
I find a kingdom of venom.
This is where I
unearth my flesh,
burrowed within black fangs
like ebony.
This is where I bleed
blue, punctured and
stippled with pointilism
of poison,
but the cornflower nectar
does not bide well with
flickering hoods and
rippling scales
(the cobras sleep very lightly),
so I sweep a blanket over my
wounds and listen to the
hisses of a disturbed slumber.
This is where I hide
my fear;
I clutch it between my teeth and
am buried beneath the
the snakes.
I rather enjoy the massive hollows
in my chest where my
ribcage should lie,
carved underneath a
heavy, slithering weight
(but tell no one
that it actually hurts).
On my bed of cobras
I find a kingdom of venom.
This is where I pull
myself apart
every night before
I sleep.
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