The Spider

The night seeps into shadows and calls out the liars like a precise game of tag, played by animatronic children with devil-red eyes. There is a price to be paid, taken in hand with the spider's token. A web of capricious lies. Tell me, Spider, who is your next victim? The Spider will reply, drooling and slurping, that it is written on the web, the name of the next victim in spirally, sticky letters. Well, tell me once more, what does it say? The Spider will laugh and curl one of its many villous legs, beckoning, come closer, my dear, and see for yourself. The night draws me in calling of softer, sweeter things and I drown in the sticky sweetness of the words. The Spider lusts while the grasshoppers play soft chords of echoing violin into the dreamless sky. It was never better than this. The Spider's token is repaid and the stars are spun in a web of seamless intricacies. Oh, and how the night plays on...