A Dragon, A Dragon

There is a dragon in my head, speaking words of spider scales.
I listen closely, my back pressed against the cold, moist wall. I can hear it breath fire. I turn to face it and it tells me to stop.

There is a dragon in my skull. It holds a screwdriver, flat-head to be exact, in it’s clenched teeth. I see it glare. It is afraid.

There is a dragon in my nostrils. It is the only one looking at me as it sits curled in a ball, sewing its tail back on. I look closely and see its claws are dull and numb. It’s breath, long and droning. I see it’s spine, like a string of beads.

There is a dragon in my neck. It reads it’s cues off a script like a pro. Two can do this dance. I don’t like the tango.

There is a dragon in my eyes. Its skin is orange and green. I hear it whisper, but I cannot hear what it says.

Posted in Poems by Preston on August 13th, 2010

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