Snakes slither meticulously
through blades of grass,
Inching towards prey; tasting
Fear, paranoia, blood.
Ears flicker wildly in the air
Facing any falling leaf,
Or rustling wind- listening.
Sensitive noses twitch; smelling
The putrid scent of death.
Clutched by freezing trepidation,
Time stands still in anticipation.
Overwhelming silence plays
On top of falling leaves and
Rustling wind; creeping into veins
That mark raised, shuddering skin.
Nerves pulse and hearts trip over fear
Echoing in frantic, hapless ears;
For they do not hear the beast's
Gentle hiss, as he bares his fangs
And claims what's his-
With sinking teeth in fragile flesh.
In this place no one is safe
From the basilisk that crawls
Between crooked vertebrae
And wrinkles of grey.
Scared to face the matter of
Death's toothless grin,
This place, engraved
Between delicate sheets of skin.

-SLuR