Charlotte's Ebb

Foul is fair in the spider’s lair Where madness hangs upon the air, Where misery is company To ancient bones that sit and stare In darkened halls, at crumbling walls, At wicked shadows that slither and crawl. Where phantoms tell tales and logic fails, Where sanity lies cold and pale, Where dark-winged things flutter and scheme From a mordant mind bitter and frail Drenched in gloom is the spider’s room, A sovereign sphere of ascendant doom Like a monument razed to an open grave, She is a gaping, fetid and festering wound. Hell is caving in.