Spun

Tell me everything you want to forget about.

I'll make it a habit

to forget about your old habits.

And in the end,

we'll come full circle,

and remain square with one another.

She was a staircase,

leading you into the wrong hallway,

causing you to weep

into the lonely oriental rug.

You fell in love with the spider in her,

We all noticed in the morning,

when your hands were silky wet with her home.

We remained silent,

hands tucked in our blankets,

while you recalled

the way her eight legs

embalmed you,

pulling your heart through your belly button,

and your brain, through your nose.

And in your organs travels,

they noticed one thing,

they liked it best

where they first belonged.

Poor you,

a minor flea

in the circus of bumble bees,

and sugary pine blossoms,

you get lost in the pride of a spider-

in the pride and prejudice of being in love.

I felt for you,

the night you slept on my doorstep,

crying on the knees

you had denied

crying on your knees,

which you so previously ignored.

I searched you, in your sleep.

Looking for some trace of where she'd gone,

and as much as you had promised me

she had gone.

I found a web in your pocket,

and a hole in your heart.

I chuckled as I scraped the web from my own hand,

and woke you,

just to remind you,

you don't need eight legs to stand.