You thought you were slick.
You thought you had it all.
And you also made me think we were friends.
Why, though?
If we were genuine friends, you would have told me
how much of an a** you would be
and how fake you were.
Your breath was like smelling someone’s decaying intestines.
Eyes looked bloodshot every day.
Coke much?
You slithered and slid with every slimy guy
you could get your fat fangs in.
Complaining the next day that your scales left marks that needed ointment.
Tracks seeping through as if the runners were ready.
But that’s neither here nor there.
Snakes came out to play.
Fist came out to fight.
Hair was waiting to be pulled.
A never-ending boxing match of throwing shade,
and catching it hard as Hell.
I made my good points by skinning you
and turning your snake’s skin into a cute purse.
Maybe one day you’ll shed your ugly scales
And better a better snake, not a bitter, venomous one.