There is a snake that dwells within me
I imagine it to be more of a serpent
if only because the name seems more ominous
It slithers silently through my being
sinking its fangs into my gut my lungs my heart
thriving on the blood that slows in my veins
I speak to it from time to time
inquiring after its determined progress
knowing there is nothing I can do to stop it
In the cold of winter between hungry breaths
I ask a boon of my ravenous companion
but I do not think he is listening
So I sip another dram and close my eyes
wandering through the warmest places
my memory can manage to reconstruct
Which is asking quite a lot, I know
but winter being what it is and the serpent
ever hungry, all I can hope to do is ask
George Ellington 