The Spider

The spider spins her web of hate, evil
that lurks around the corner, every waking hour
spent weaving and weaving, dew
drops cling to the threads and glisten, in
light catches the silver strands, as she makes her
way towards the center, her dinner set before her
she touches its cheek lovingly, her venom piercing
its shell, its lifeforce, wrapped in a cocoon of love
and soft silky string, weaved to perfection
a slow death, but in the end it is worth it for her, she
takes good care of her lunch, carefuly draining its essence
taking it into herself, fullfilling her deepest darkest needs
its her desire for this life blood that drives her urges
to do it again and again, starving for it, hungering for it.
She becomes one with it.
~*~