Descent into the foundations

There is a serpent,
Obsidian black,

Gliding through the confines of my mind.

Through the firmament,
and fundament of time,
although I've healed,
it slyly writhes.

Sutures of light,
and the Serpent of shade,
eternally dancing,
the timeless game.

Sometimes, it finds a wound,
with sutures still sealing.
It bites and coils,
ripping open,
that which was almost closed.

So i descend again,
armed only with breath
and sutures of light.

The serpent slides,
and flees,
before I draw near.

This hide and seek,
of eternity.