The Blackest Widow Of Them All

Spinning your web,

Held together by gossamer threads

of illusions and lies

that dye it red.

You wait,

patiently standing in the shadows

like a black widow

awaiting her prey.

Me.

The prey comes; you lunge;

with sticky webs in your hands.

I turn to run, but to no avail;

stuck fast; no escape.

I strain at these silvery threads that bind me,

how is it that they hold me so?

Watching me closely, you hiss with pleasure

before descending for the feast.

A clean bite; barely a drop spilled,

but still blood runs across the floor.

Or are they tears,

stained red by fear and desperation?

I guess I will never know.

My head lolls forward, hair hiding my eyes,

as I succumb to the sweet embrace

of the Darkness that threatens to pull me in.