​Spider

I hate myself because of you. Every time I look at you I think of me, being worthless. You treat everyone so well but you say you hate yourself.. and sometimes it shows. If you don’t feel worthy.. I must not. I started a journal on your journey, something everyone seems so interested in, beautiful little child. Precarious, curious, whimsical, loyal to a fault and sometime I fear I might be the predator you should be wary of but it seems you have no sense in your head at all. Saying some of the most dumbfounding analasises of the world that do really provoke thought. I make stories about you, my muse, and you’re growing fast. Before long I may have to tell you.. or keep them from you, keep you from them.

Someday I might give rekindle what I stole, so when the world gets a glimpse of what I did, and you grow past that pretty little thing you’d used to be, it’ll just be another story you’ve made. The vault you keep, my protegy, my patsy, my prize. Curious little scientist running around playing. Too smart for your own good without a direction guiding you back to me to keep you safe from it all. Often I think I’m sick, treating you like some toy, some plaything. But discipline must be taught to all my children, and you are after all just a child. The nasty spattle you’d drive into my sides, maybe some reaction? Attention? Affection? No.. it seems you’ve lost your way? Not as happy as you were, not as loving, not as kind. I found my way to you, even if watching from afar. Fires I’d spread around us to keep you in my arms, I’ll hold you again my little dear. Even if theres no life in you left.