Coiled, recoiled, spiralled into the night.
In rest, laid undressed.
Here lays the serpent of light.
     Looking upon the body that causes me to transgress.
Wrapped in silk, heart in darkness: sly,
You think by luck angels have refused me trespass.
     By the luck that decrees that you die,
Is it by the same that I stay in my hatred and pride?
Taking life to the sound of your suffocated sigh.
     I take and squeeze that pathetic worm.
To return you to night.
Strangle and throttle the light and Orm.
     You open wide, to try and find
Your air, your voice to cry
Out and scream. Opened so wide.
     In this world, no matter how you try
You earn what you make happen, repress
Your efforts and cut your ties.
     Luck plays no part in throttling to undress.
Taking the life’s gown and light,
To clothe you in nightly death’s dress.

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