M. Evermore

The Snake

She is hiding in the darkness

Shadows entwined with flesh

She is watching and waiting

As they talk and laugh and mock

Secrets upon lies upon gossip

It reminds her of a time

When she was one of them

A white dove in a sea of grey

But now she is a black sheep

As she lurks in the corners

They call her a snake

Cruel, cold, callous

She doesn’t mind

Dangerous, cunning, bejeweled

She does not move

She shall strike when the time is right

Their eyes are wary as they glimpse her

Good. They should be

But the night revels on

And they forget

As they are drunk on wine and life

A mistake

She looks up to the moon

It’s new

She bows her head to her mistress

And to her master down below

Before brandishing her dagger,

Clean and silver

It wouldn’t be soon

She slips out of the darkness,

Gazing at the ones that ruined her

And gave a dagger smile

Right before the snake strikes