Hiding from light exists twisted death, it slithers and screeches for one measly breath.
Around the edges it bleeds and lies, gushing red from under its eyes.
How shriveled and misunderstood this being is, yes, so please invite yourself in, and become its new guest.
Three is a powerful number, and so is your poetry.
For some reason, I totally dig this poem! These are a very powerful three lines. Very nice!