Crimson spider,
you walk across my hand;
you must know me,
you understand that I,
unlike any other man,
would not crush you:
I stand above you.
I left your web alone.
Are you running a slaughterhouse?
There are so many carcasses
strung up on your lines.
Are you afraid-
or is it my own hand
trembling?
Crawl up to my lips;
bite me slowly,
your stomach I'll gently lick.
If I praised you,
would you blush?
Or is human-lacking
just wearisome?
Can you see through me?
I'm the master's errant son.
You shame me:
you always follow your pulse,
you always wound to kill.
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