Empty Serpent Vault

A slithering buzz. A room filled with snakes, quick as lightning, bold as quickened bulls. Their origin unknown. Small and young. Others, old with a venomous bite, each carrying a wedge of my darkest moments. Their eyes are mine— a turpentine glow. A death stare. The serpent’s room cracked open. Away they go. With time, an empty vault. I don’t wear the thorned crown and sway evil with miracles. But my clean hand scares them stiff, sweeping them off— never to bite the vein, never to feel their influence again.