Rattlesnakes

Open the box slowly, 

Careful not to them let them in out,

Slide your fingers below the lid,

Pull it off.

*Clang*

*Hiss*

One slithers out

Slowly

Calculatingly

It whispers into your ear

Singing tales 

Venomous to the core

Wraps itself slowly around your neck

Cutting your breath 

Choking you

It snakes around your chest

Crushing your ribs

Digging into your heart

Makes a hit for what matters most,

Innocently pretends nothing is wrong

Seeks your shoulder to cry on

But asks you not to pry on

Once you know the truth

Go ahead

Throw a stone at it

Scream at it to go away

It recoils, 'wounded'

Remember, victimisation is her game play. 

Another slithers out 

Pretentiously

Sweetly 

Stares at you with its beady eyes

Convinces you that it means good

Bites you when you look the other side

This one claims to love you

As it fraternises with the enemy 

This one blames you of creating camps

Accuses you of the divisions.

It says it has morals,

So it won't bite your neck

Instead it will slowly cut into your heart

Because you thought it wasn't a threat.

One more crawls out

Sickeningly

Jealously 

A late arrival

Wrapping itself around your head

Telling you, they're happy for you

As their vicious tongue gives you a lick

You smile

Swat it off, lightly 

But it tightens the grip

Unsure of what it wants itself

Puts you on the guilt trip

They rattle you to the core

Creating their nest in your stomach

Burrowing into you

Throw them out

Scrape them off

Don't house them any longer

Out-about

Looking for another person to devour,

Meticulously they shed their skins

With it, the guilt of their sins.

Empty Spaces

The empty spaces in my heart
Let my arteries pour blood into them
As it thuds a little uneven
As it thuds a little slower.

The galaxies
And skies
And suns 
And all the pretty things

I try to gulp down my throat
To make myself feel that I am full
And that the empty space inside my stomach doesn't exist.

The empty space in your room
Haunts me
Each and every time I cross it
Some times I fill it with my own being and pretend to be you

The empty spaces in my eyes
Craters created by the meteors of the lack of the sight of you
Fill up with the streams that flow out

The empty spaces between my fingers
Burn into my eyes when I cross the road
I curl my palm into a fist
Letting the thoughts fade into the music of traffic.

Stomach It

Look at the blood on your hands
The dark pigment slipping through your fingers
How badly do you wish your body were a jacket you could slip out of?

Does it feel good when the blade of your tongue
Cuts right through skin?
Do you taste the metallic taste of the liquid?

Slowly
Methodically
You slice every word to hit a mark

Push the buttons
Pull the levers
Perfectly

Twist the mind
And hence mangle the body
Slow dancing
To the ballad of abuses hurled
In the blood bath

Does the guilt of what you have done ever get you?
Catch up to you while you run around gas lighting lies?

But remember,
Just when it gets too bad
And your insides can't hold the gore
Of what you've done
Stomach it.

Fabric

There is a piece of fabric wrapped around you.

Ever since the first clot of air that you inhaled, the fabric wound itself, attached itself to what you now call your body.

A parasite to your soul's home. 

You can cut this fabric, slowly, systematically, it will take patience and time, you'll make it out of it, fresh and alive, but you'll lose some skin, bits of you would spill out along with your blood because it took too long to cut the fabric out and it had already made itself a part of you. 
But you'll make it out of it, fresh and alive. 

You can tear through this fabric, with the urgency to breathe again because its presence suffocates you, its existence proclaims you as its own but you don't want it. 
So you tear through the fabric, with shivering fingers, mustering all your strength. 
There is some pain yes it feels like a needle, pricking your skin again and again and again.

You can slip out of the fabric, like a snake shedding its skin, slowly, gracefully and effortlessly. But it will soon return, the same as it was, like it never left. 

Take your pick.