Serpent

Chill,
A cold chill,
Pressing against my skin,
Shivering my spine,
Trickling through my hands.
Pale face, quivering lips.
A raw steadiness in,
Only existing.
What if I'm not ready,
To fade out yet.
Kissing my own hand,
A serpent on the floor,
Rusting around the edges,
I don't know if I can fix this.
Who's going to help me fix this?
Hands sliding over eyes.