Number 8. by Frail-Beauty - A Poem from Tumblr


 * There is a web of lies hanging from the ceiling
 * And of course I am the Araneae responsible.
 * Octagons appear in my dreams,
 * Confessions written on each side.
 * Inside and out, but within the lines
 * There is nothing, just pure soft cotton.
 * My web does not exist to capture or
 * Destroy, it is there to protect.
 * Sometimes myself, but now I keep
 * You there too. Close beside me.
 * My little spider legs wrapped around you,
 * Tickling your spine.
 * You are mine.