(What Waiting Fed’m)
Spiders spin webbing, an all-consuming threading,
Behind his eyes by scores.
Stopping paths of thought, catch’em in their pearly knots,
He thinks on them no more.
Spiders weave pinken gums, clamping teeth, one by one,
Jaw cages unseen sores.
Voice constricted tight, wrapped within restrains of white,
We think on him no more.
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