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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: June 09, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 09, 2015



There's something wrong.

I want to die, don't want to carry on;

my heart and head

they ache with longing and my heart is filled with dread

They long for normalcy, they're longing to be free

whatever that means; and says the serpent's voice: Cut out me.


The voice is mine, or rather, has no other man's embodiment, so mine?

Cuts into me, almost sublime, it lies beyond my reach

and it corrupts the mind.

I know only one way to kill it dead;

My sister did it once in dead of night

and stained with red what once was white

the serpent's voice comes: cut out me.


Then the feeling's gone, I'm fine again -

with no proof of assault; a friend

is what I need

as one new voice joins with the choir,

the serpent's voice again.


Each time it returns with deeper cuts.

Rending the strings that hold my heart,

and as it cuts

I lie down; and hear nothing in void

'til hissing voices come, reflections of myself.


I take the stanley blade, my sister's one

I found while searching through one of her drawers

And as I think. as I lie chafed and raw

Far better to scar the outside than within,

Cut once more.


A crimson tide washes out from

inside my wrists

The snake recoils, slithers back toward my heart

And I've a moment of relief.

Is this what Serpent wanted? Did I let it win?

I stop caring as I take up the blade again.

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