Slither.

I feel the pricks of eyes tingling up and down my neck and spine. Feelers grapple with anonymity and hunger. Juggle with how to be elusive and how to be coy. They reach as far as they can without disturbing my sky. 

I hear the whispers on the silent line. I hear the breath hearing mine. Silence that can break bones. Silence that seems to make serpents stir. 

Slither quietly and taste the air for more. Taste the air for truths that aren’t really there. I don’t charm snakes, they just taste for me. I don’t need the venom in my veins. Snake charming is a dangerous game. 

I feel your eyes scraping against my back. I see you. Be careful where you slither and I will be careful where I tread. I don’t charm snakes anymore. Snakes are often thought better off dead.

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