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The Spider Of Our Life

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Below is the poem entitled The Spider Of Our Life which was written by poet Joseph Camp. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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The Spider Of Our Life

In shattered glass you live with malice and rejection.
With skin soft as silk you reach out with a violent urge for affection.
Papers thrown on to the street with lack of attention.
They wove this web over your tarnished scythe.
The blade's poison seeping through, sharp as a knife.
The Spider Of Our Life.
I wove this web over your tarnished scythe.
The blade's poison seeping through, sharp as a knife.
The Spider Of Our Life.
Nothing quite campares to the way you self-indulge in your isolation.
Lying there, locked away in your virtuous perfection.
As you sort this reality from your fiction,
you realize your fantasies are a dangerous distraction.
These hateful words become all you swallow.
With mirrors and mascara you wallow.
A used body for the bombshell of your sorrow.
They wove this web over your tarnished scythe.
The blade's poison seeping through, sharp as a knife.
The Spider Of Our Life.
I wove this web over your tarnished scythe.
The blade's poison seeping through, sharp as a knife.
The Spider Of Our Life.
Nothing quite campares to the way you self-indulge in your isolation.
Lying there, locked away in your virtuous perfection.
As you sort this reality from your fiction,
you realize your fantasies are a dangerous distraction.
In the past you always live.
Keeping secrets you feel that no one can forgive.
Tokens of lost love and forgotten religion scrawled across the floor of your bedroom.
Living without precious moments and dying all alone, this is your seemingly inescapable doom.
Here's to the gifts I've given myself, a piece of knowledge for all to see.
I am "you" and "you" are me.
They wove this web over your tarnished scythe.
The blade's poison seeping through, sharp as a knife.
The Spider Of Our Life.
I wove this web over your tarnished scythe.
The blade's poison seeping through, sharp as a knife.
The Spider Of Our Life.
Nothing quite campares to the way you self-indulge in your isolation.
Lying there, locked away in your virtuous perfection.
As you sort this reality from your fiction,
you realize your fantasies are a dangerous distraction.

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