Spiders creeping up my arms making me shiver like a scared child hiding.
The spiders crawl, tickling my chest, gross and foul, wrong and cold.
The spiders search for my breasts and attack them, hungry, wrong and cold.
The spiders crawl all down my stomach, tracing my hip bones, my hip bones.
I shudder with disgust at such creatures in my space, my personal space.
I hate the spiders, I hate them with everything I have.
I want to run away like a kite, in the sky where no one will ever find me.
I can’t move, I can’t breathe.
The spiders are in my mouth.
The spiders are winning against me, my silent struggle.
There’s no cry for help, just my green eyes trying to kill the spiders.
All the spiders.
Wrong and cold.
The spiders overtake me and my bed, they even overtake the moonlight slitting through the window.
This very slant of moonlight is the only thing reminding me life is still going on outside the super secret and unknown corridors of my bedroom.
Oh why did I let you in here in the first place?
I should have known once you started on me.
The very second you put your tongue inside my lips, I should have known.
It didn’t feel right at all, it was wrong. Wrong and cold.
And now its not even you. All I know are the spiders.
The only thing I seem to even feel on my raw skin are the spiders, ravaging what’s mine.
Spiders would not understand if I told them to stop.
You’re in a trance, focused on getting what you want out of me.
That’s all you want. I might as well be a doll since all you care about is that one thing.
To you I can’t speak or feel or see or share or write or do anything but be your slave.
I am a little girl, a child, you’re project.
You are corrupting me.
I am the lake and you are the rock tossed in at full force, rippling me and I’ll never be exactly the same, ever again.
You don’t know. You’re just happy, overjoyed, satiated. You’re getting what you want and I’m paying the dues, like life after death, you’re life, I’m death, and you’re killing me slowly.
Spiders.
Cold.
Wrong.
It’s my body you’re all over, mine, it’s mine, every inch of me is screaming, yelling, calling, asking, praying, begging, whispering, hoping silently that the spiders might just go easy on me.
But I could never be so lucky, it’s taking a toll and this will never end.
You’re like a train with no emergency break violently rushing full speed as if the world will end if you don’t get what you want, right now.
Oh the spiders tip-toeing in like cold air after a hot day.
Oh the spiders lurking like an abandoned bicycle on a corner, rusting.
Oh the spiders watching my every move like a hawk and I’m the prey.
Oh the spiders trying to find the secret potion that could be hidden inside me.
Oh the spiders, you say you love me so much but I know you don’t.
You don’t even know me, you just know my body that you trace like it’s a mystery and you’re the only one that is let in, like its a locket and you’re the only fool who has the key.
You know how my naval sits on my stomach, you know the curve of my breasts, you know the sharpness of my hipbones and I hate this the most, but you know my inner thighs too well.
You love, cherish, adore, savor, drink up every single second of it while I lay motionless, silent, miserable, somber, uncomfortable, and embarrassed.
Spiders envelope me until I need to fight for my own right to breathe.
But the air I intake is wrong and cold.
The spiders crawl, tickling my chest, gross and foul, wrong and cold.
The spiders search for my breasts and attack them, hungry, wrong and cold.
The spiders crawl all down my stomach, tracing my hip bones, my hip bones.
I shudder with disgust at such creatures in my space, my personal space.
I hate the spiders, I hate them with everything I have.
I want to run away like a kite, in the sky where no one will ever find me.
I can’t move, I can’t breathe.
The spiders are in my mouth.
The spiders are winning against me, my silent struggle.
There’s no cry for help, just my green eyes trying to kill the spiders.
All the spiders.
Wrong and cold.
The spiders overtake me and my bed, they even overtake the moonlight slitting through the window.
This very slant of moonlight is the only thing reminding me life is still going on outside the super secret and unknown corridors of my bedroom.
Oh why did I let you in here in the first place?
I should have known once you started on me.
The very second you put your tongue inside my lips, I should have known.
It didn’t feel right at all, it was wrong. Wrong and cold.
And now its not even you. All I know are the spiders.
The only thing I seem to even feel on my raw skin are the spiders, ravaging what’s mine.
Spiders would not understand if I told them to stop.
You’re in a trance, focused on getting what you want out of me.
That’s all you want. I might as well be a doll since all you care about is that one thing.
To you I can’t speak or feel or see or share or write or do anything but be your slave.
I am a little girl, a child, you’re project.
You are corrupting me.
I am the lake and you are the rock tossed in at full force, rippling me and I’ll never be exactly the same, ever again.
You don’t know. You’re just happy, overjoyed, satiated. You’re getting what you want and I’m paying the dues, like life after death, you’re life, I’m death, and you’re killing me slowly.
Spiders.
Cold.
Wrong.
It’s my body you’re all over, mine, it’s mine, every inch of me is screaming, yelling, calling, asking, praying, begging, whispering, hoping silently that the spiders might just go easy on me.
But I could never be so lucky, it’s taking a toll and this will never end.
You’re like a train with no emergency break violently rushing full speed as if the world will end if you don’t get what you want, right now.
Oh the spiders tip-toeing in like cold air after a hot day.
Oh the spiders lurking like an abandoned bicycle on a corner, rusting.
Oh the spiders watching my every move like a hawk and I’m the prey.
Oh the spiders trying to find the secret potion that could be hidden inside me.
Oh the spiders, you say you love me so much but I know you don’t.
You don’t even know me, you just know my body that you trace like it’s a mystery and you’re the only one that is let in, like its a locket and you’re the only fool who has the key.
You know how my naval sits on my stomach, you know the curve of my breasts, you know the sharpness of my hipbones and I hate this the most, but you know my inner thighs too well.
You love, cherish, adore, savor, drink up every single second of it while I lay motionless, silent, miserable, somber, uncomfortable, and embarrassed.
Spiders envelope me until I need to fight for my own right to breathe.
But the air I intake is wrong and cold.
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