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It's not over . . . yet . . .

Vipers slither from your lips
Twisted into clever quips
Fueled by petty vengeful ire
How is it that you haven’t tired?

Every chance to take a swipe
There you are with caustic bites
Briefly do your serpents rest
Retract their fangs, curl in their nest

But never are they still for long
Emerge anew, to right the wrongs
They perceive were heaped on you
And help to heal the gaping wound

I don’t lash out; I hold my tongue
Yet still your cobras glide along
Then arch and hiss and strike at me
I sit back watching, silently

You no more seem to me a friend
The chances slim to make amends
I would settle for détente
But clearly that’s not what you want

So for now, I tread with care
Of your snakes I must beware
Until the vorpal sword of time
Finds someone new you can malign.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than storiesspace.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © 2015 - 2017 by Talia Russell
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical means without written permission of the author.

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