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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required “It’s a terrible love And I’m walking with spiders… It’s a terrible love and I’m walking in Its quiet company…”-Birdy Three long claws enclosed around a lone beating heart Stone talons gripping in happy malice, silently angry by its pulse it cannot feel… The longer I stare into the hollow sockets seeing only ugliness, The easier it becomes to break into pieces over the mere thought of you I thought it was a dull beat- a throbbing, fading beat disappearing into the night… Though your image, once so grainy, is becoming clearer and clearer in the fogs of my consciousness I thought it was just a dull, callous beat… But the more it throbs against the stone, the more the stone cracks The more the demon cries in anguish…the more I fall So deeply in love have I become, I can barely breathe in this misty embrace The suspense of your blows make my innards whimper…make my mind shiver My tearful eyes cry for your assurance My body changes through the peeks of your light It is all a joke! This is all pathetic, low, meaningless! Surely these claws over this heart do not exist Holding onto nothing but dead spiders who once weaved miracles Dust and spider legs….spider eyes…they had seen so much…felt so much with their prickly appendages Through a lovely peephole beyond the three stoned fingers… I see the entire world where they must have crawled A world holding you… If only I could hold you too… Something tells me I would never let go if I had the chance Something tells me I would crush you I would turn you into dust and spider legs… And yes, as all demons enjoy, I would lose you In the grip of the three stoned fingers Unless… You were that heart I thought I had seen… The heart that continued to beat long after it was ripped out The clenched heart that throbbed despite its crushing cage The very heart that bled and bled for no body and all for the sake of love Beating and beating, cracking those frigid fingers Into dust… And all of the fallen limbless creatures would gather round… And they would tell me… “He lives yet still…” Weaving in their webs the very bloods and salts you pumped Within me…and beyond me Dead spiders weave and weave and weave… And unlike human hearts, their ideas never tire
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