Not Charlotte’s web

If I was a spider 

I would spin stained glass skies

And dress in black shadows

spun silver by the moon 

Catching drops of the sun

glistening in morning dew

Come now,

come to me 

Come dance on silken thread

These fangs are ripe with poison 

Come rest your weary head

A black coal heart awaits 

Hourglass painted red

and you 

ensnared, 

in my parlor of pain

I will feast on your blood 

And you 

will wish 

you were dead.

The only one not afraid of me, is the one who weaves the same soliloquy.

This is no Charlotte’s web.