Venom.

Deranged within madness and sour to the senses

A bitter whip as a tongue

Scorching venom as her love

The wind rushes past her eyes as the trees dangle below

Inch by inch she creeps to the edge

whipping wind taunting her to hop

Skip

And land into her abyss

As she reaches her hand out daring to caress her wind

She’s snapped back into her chair

Bones cemented into her the wood of her seat

What does she see?

Her husband at work

Gripping the pen

She almost expects it to snap

Rigid spine hunched over an oak desk

Scotch in his hand

Her red lipstick is smudged

A gapping mouth opens

No matter the amount of air she has all she can let go is a squeak

This is utterly madness

Voracious in its matter, tender to its core

Venom.