Roughly one year,
twelve months,
three-hundred-eighty-three days,
nine-thousand-one-hundred-ninety-six hours,
five-hundred-fifty-one-thousand-seven-hundred-fifty-four minutes,
thirty-three-million-one-hundred-five-thousand-two-hundr­ed-fourty seconds…
It is in these shreds of time that many vile moments will unfold like the last shedding of a snake’s skin.
There is no vaccine for the venom that is soon to occur,
it must simply run its violent course.
It will thin my blood,
and exfoliate me from within so that my soul is raw.
It is neither the lightheartedness of friends,
nor the contempt for those I have wronged that will keep me alive,
as there is no hospital that can cure wounds of this nature.
Time has lost its medical license due to malpractice,
and I once again find myself practicing patience with snakes.