My Basilisk.

It eats me up inside: Not knowing. The thoughts gnawing their way down. Down into my core. Tired of the times I’ve cried: But not showing. The sickness craving attention when I try to ignore.

Its breath so sweet, its touch is a sin. Dark magic salaciously at play. Playing on my heart strings. The look it gives when we meet: I drink it in. Even with the knowledge that it means my death, I submit to the serpent’s callings.

I’m fighting to face it then forget it’s hold on me. I’m trying to love it then forget it doesn’t love me.

Anytime it crosses my heart, the boost, the bliss. It is my basilisk.

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