She's a snake in the dark,

slithering away.

Decievingly gentle and slow,

she seeks out her prey.

Emotionless red eyes,

they cut through the night.

Her scales are like snow

glimmering in the moonlight.

Silently, she stalks;

purposefully, she creeps.

In the ambience of midnight,

a mouse slowly weeps.

Just like a snake,

yet unlike one all the same,

she calls out slyly,

"Young mouse, what's your name?"

Tattered by tears,

the mouse fixes her fur.

This glistening white snake

seems important for sure.

"M-my name's not important,"

the sullen mouse squeaks.

"My, you look hungry,

have you not eaten in weeks?"

"If I look so hungry,"

muses the snake,

"why don't you utter a sound,

as you're mine to take?"

The mouse shuffles her feet,

eyes sent downcast.

"It's no matter now,

that's all in the past."

The snake circles the stranger,

evaluating her prey.

Where is the fun

in mice that won't run away?

Curiosity kills the cat,
but here it saves the mouse.

"You're not my meal today,

just run back to your house."

"Is that so?"

she inquires quite lowly.

"I guess I'll go,"

she scampers off slowly.

Just before her depart,

that mouse turns to the reptile.
Black eyes agleam,

there's a ghost of a sly smile.

"Foolish snake, you see a tear,"

you choose to lose a meal.

What if I told you the act was fake—

then, how would you feel?"

That pure white snake with blood-red eyes,

beautiful in and out,

she was left with a twisted feeling;

she'd been tricked, without a doubt.

As she slithers back onto her path,

she remembers that liar run.

On that cold, dismal midnight, she realizes:

she's in dark more ways than one.