Sharper Than a Serpent’s Tooth

Sharper Than a Serpent’s Tooth

I know what eats you.

Tangles your insides into knots,

like venomed serpent skeins

constricts the blood to your veins,

mortars flesh some minted 

pastel green.

Mottles you, throttles your

iced dreamed-frozen heart, 

tears like hail

forked head devouring tail

uncrushed by your own woman seed;

oh, far too late: now to grieve.

Snaking backtracked betrayal. Greed.

Dismayed at all it has achieved

when weighed 

against friendship thieved.

They’ll crucify you for it, 

but you know that of course,

unhappy sits the head that wears the crown.

Those who play most foully often win,

but thereafter crush-shoulder sin

sport puzzled frown upon the brow,

for where is all the laughter now?

It’s dog-eared your face,

easy now, to look and trace

the whiplines there.

Crime slashes deep shrouds, 

cloud blacked eyes from lack of sleep:

and though you wish to smile was free,

you observe but you do not see

that I have lost things too:

And you know what eats me,

the scorpion I swallowed did not suffer,

it lives and feasts in my gut,

strikes his flash venom toxic flame

slowly seeps his poison to the brain,

leisurely now, long time does creep

concrete set crepuscular hours, weep

for friends lost to canker callous,

outstretch palm tree hands

to enemy’s jealous

sharp tacked bloodied nails, flesh to wood

where all that was once true and good

turned by agonies lathe to filthy history.

Now reading your degree 

in misrepresentation

is the mission of the dying nation:

blame all; it is easy to fall into temptation.

Laid traps into which you willing walked,

soundproofed love’s mouths against talk

setting friend on friend,

shape you world records in backstabbery,

lead-clad new lines in smash and grabbery,

dial down children’s hope to sit and gloat

on the pinnace of austerity’s shabbery.

Oh, masterful masturbation 

over seedy decline

legalising murder, 

in the name of crime.

It hurts, that I know what’s eating you,

copyblots my mind but

alas, no Nile of tears will ever flush

both scorpion and snake from that rank,

fetid withered bush.

Looking back, can it ever be enough?

Still, sit you incestuous, recall

you, entitle and pay each the other

what silver bespokes talentless hacks;

no going back from giving heaven the sack

that now the ice inside can never crack.