Saturday, August 22, 2015

The Cobra

God knows what I'm thinking.
No one should ever know.
It's my way of naming,
Like the glade where grass grow,
All the black scales that twirl,
Embracing in a swirl.

He whispers like a snake.
His thoughts are in my head.
I really shall awake,
But "Stay here, love," he said
In delightful nightmare
That can both seduce and scare.

Everything I avoid,
How they give me this void.
It's the one named by Freud.

O will this ever end
In this dark gorge of high
Where all my values bend?
I don't even know why.
Might be because of me,
For I just can't be free.
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