. . . A Gift from the Darkness . . .

. . .

"It'll burn into your soul," she says

As she calls to my aching soul

With the very word of its ruffled hole.

She welcomes it with her somber venom.

. . . She ripens it whole,

As she dreams of the impressionable hole

And its nefarious stroll.

Such is the reign of her tragic tale.

It's a story that only I know how to tell –

The Black Mamba and her bleak ambition.

She hungers for its greed

As she bleeds into submission.

"A heartless spawn becomes her sole mission,"

I say and aspire her ambition.

. . . I'm her nightmare now . . .