Serpent

His wicked tongue flickers in the moonlight
casting aside any feeling it once had
slithering along the strings of words used
to break my heart over and over again
the flame slices through me
with each twist of the knife
going deeper into my back

those glances
just lies told to gain false hopes
the 8 lies prostrate
sunning itself
on a hot afternoon
it calls out, mocking me
derisive laughter

I avert my eyes
the blood trickling down my back
leaving a trail marking my past
a warning to those behind me
a warm place to rest the future blade
for those I face
for the one who does neither

I wait