The arachnids
Take solace beneath my hide
I quiver in their commute
As they voyage along my contorted form

My thoughts dwell softly
In the binds of cobwebs
Unable to drift
Never daring to stray
From the fearful present

I’ve spent the last of my horror
In drawn, guttural cries
For a pitiful shred of mercy

I live on cautiously
Treading lightly each passing day
Ever-mindful of what lurks beneath
Of the plague
That thrives within