As is becoming tradition, here is a pile of poetry born of sleep deprived delirium, Slytherin Edition™. 🐍

Batteries not included.

---

Mailer-Daemon

I’ve saved up every disquieting thought

that you’ve gifted me,

every uncomfortable sensation,

and wrapped them carefully

to return to you.

From here on they’re yours to carry.

I have no need.

---

Untitled

Vengeance is the serpent’s coil

a slow drip of poison on the tongue

the sudden gasp from a lover’s lips

the sweetest release

a sin surely worth the price.

---

Similarly Untitled

Wretched creature, may you succumb to a famine of spirit.

Let my justice be slow, but absolute.

You may sleep

but will find it fitful.

You’ll have no rest

and find no peace.

You may drink to excess,

but no substance on this earth

will ever slake your thirst

Or fill your hollow days with meaning.

You will cry out

and no one will help you

or hear you

or care.

And you will question,

“Can I?”

flickers of hesitation that compound

into days

and weeks

and years of time

you can never recover.

In those quiet moments

when you are alone and desperate,

look again over your shoulder.

Know that I was there,

just out of view,

that I saw your weakness

and that it pleased me.