WHATS NORMAL TO THE SPIDER

IS CHAOS TO THE FLY

The delicate night holds her still. Buzzing away in the endless possibilities of dreams. When she is awake she dreams to be free. The weight of my love or lack thereof has buckled below me. Again. No one else has ever fallen in. At night, I plan ways to make my spidery deportment more fly-like. I do this in attempt to appeal to the fly, but instead it always comes off as a trap, even though have webs for that. Mimicking, I call it “love”, but it can only be pain.