The kiss of the serpent

Fear, disgust, repulsion, all this and more etched within and upon my recoiling face. If my features had the ability to leave my skull, they would flee, like a thief in the night, being pursued by a pack of flesh hungry, salivating dogs. *Arrrggh*
Inside my tortured mind the memory of my screams still resound.
Lips connect with my repression.

Evil! She sits there wearing a deceiving smile, staring, boring her lasers through me, penetrating my fear and knowing it intimately. She knows me, she realises her power and intends to release her dominance over me.
Lips create evil's perception.

Upon her weathered face is an array of hideous warts; many of them spew course, wiry like bristles, spiralling, as if they yearn to take root. Her eyes twinkle-less lumps of coal, charred, dusty and ashen dead. From my seat I can smell her, I try not too, but her stench forces its repugnance into me. I feel disorientated and nauseated; my entrails urgently need to escape this deadly smog.
Lips connect with deformity.

A long searching digit beckons - I, I have no control, travelling, against my will on an invisible escalator towards a wheezing death. I am a mere mortal; feebly fighting, my strength, my will is sapped. I have to succumb to my inevitable fate, a disgusting, repulsive demise of my reducing youth.
Lips connect with pending inevitability.

Closer, her pursed lips are nearing me; she smacks them together and licks them in putrid chorus. Such a shame, that serpents aid didn't reach the margins of her crusty mouth, where desiccated cream, jam and scone residue still suspend, quivering ever so slightly out of synch with her elongated expression.
Lips connect with insanity.

There she is Medusa reincarnated, a modern day embodiment of my blood lineage, my historic influence. Lips travel in obligation in the slowest motion, urged on by an intimidating mother to connect with my minds regression.

Yes, my friends, I give you Satan's reviled mother, namely - my not so great auntie - Agnes.

And so out of breath I awake to a cold familiar depression!

M. Moran
Copyright
13.05.08