all sweet and
soft and
solemn
and sore,
here in a shadow
with passions galore,
i tremble,
i beat,
i kick myself more--
all but for me,
for being no more.
but for all i weep
and wail to my core,
i am too dumb to know
what this is all for.
so i play with my spiders,
completely unsure
of whether they'll bite me--
and what is more,
of whether they've
poison
to go with their gore.
so, rather, i'll leave them
with my heart at the door.
and when you return,
you will see them no more.