forgotten wounds

Darkish brown,
thick,
the caterpillarish looking scar on her body.

I touched it to see the remains of some forgotten wounds.
Probably forgotten but not forgiven.
Is that why she wants to carry the thick ropelike, dried, dead scars on her back. By touching them i can feel that they are not dry neither are they dead. With the first touch i could hear them hiss as if they hated my smell. Like serpents full of venom just that you can't see there little fangs. As they lie skin deep, deep like some secret about the past. The more these little creatures slither beneath her wet sweet sweaty copperish burnt brown skin, the more i want to pet them. The whole knowledge of their hatred towards my wicked sly touch becomes a thing of joy for me. the more they want to run away the more i tickle them. i am sure my muse-their keeper never knew that they were alive.

i ignored, i walk past, leaving them to themselves for a while. let them nurture the hatred for me. let them feed on the hatred for me.

but not for long. soon i touch them again. they grow wild. try to tear the skin apart, the brown skin starts growing maroonish in colour, the serpents want to tear the skin apart.
they want to fill the room with their hatred to me. they just hiss and they slither within the warm sweaty skin of hers.

but not for long, finally their fangs come out, out in despise. venom filled fangs dash at me. i could see hatred in front of me not as an emotion but as a being. i could have run away from the fang, i could have run away from the venom, but i stood there mesmerized and tried poisoning it by letting my fangs dart in their way.

we let the fangs meet the fangs...
and let venom run through both our bodies.
let one venom kill the other.
let hate kill hate.

we take a pause...
now her eyes are closed,
now the illusion is reality
and the venom is bitter no more.