I once wrote,
“If there’s no more afterglow, then how can the past hold any meaning for us?”

Tightly coiled around my soul,
a snake,
she hissed, slithering her small,
dainty tongue against the smallest of crevices.

In the day, she bit me,
and there was so much poison
in my veins I began to believe my very existence was only
the over active imagination of Delirium. 

With a gasp, I awoke
Forehead drenched in sweat, a scream lodged against a lump in my throat.
I inhaled,
and I felt it,
the breath reverberating
through every (crevice);
fiber of my being.

—Marie Meyers

copyright Marie Meyers, 2016


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