Black tendrils slithering relentlessly, threatening to take what does not belong to them,
Wrapping throat, brain, lungs and tongue, a vice grip for a body too beaten and worn to not give in.
"Not my words" uttered a voice, no more than a whisper, but the spiteful snake of utter demolition refuses to hear the pleas of the beggar.
Time is no longer in moment of counting, as the scoundrel tightens to a suffocating embrace, the host gasping with every flex of its malicious muscular facade.
Around the head now, face covered and sight shielded, the grip never yielded, and thus another precious momentum destroyed.
The weight, oh the weight, lays heavy on fragile fractals of bones, shredded remains of once a muscular strength taken for granted.
Abdominal muscles give a sickening lurch as a bent out spine is constricted in this hug, designed to give any feeling as far from care as it can be.
Then..it's your time.
The serpent no longer threatens.
For it has already won.