I'm in the belly of a snake
Sliding noisily through subterranean tunnels
Another slithers pasts me fastly (sic)
Shaking my own surroundings
I navigate the insides of this serpent with tired eyes
Images, trying to sell me things, adorn the walls
What a peculiar place to decorate
As if my eyes and my mind weren't tired enough
I allow this thing to devour me
Maybe twice or thrice a day
It doesn't me in by its mouth
It's a strange serpent... maybe compassionate?
Perhaps it just doesn't like to see whom it takes in
I can only hope it knows its direction
And the foul smell is perspiration and not digestive acid
And I hope it opens its walls for me
For while I am in here, I am not free.
-F
