I go to church with snakes
in my pockets.
these forked tongues
know which pages
hold the answers
to all this everlasting life,
love, & the pursuit of everything
but sin.
they slither close to my chest,
just above my heart.
sometimes I imagine them
winding around my organs,
& squeezing the life right out
of me. this is what it really means
to be afraid.
No comments:
Post a Comment