Endings.

There is no moment I can find
unravelling the tangle
following the threads
digging through the dirt
and mess
and bleeding.

No point where I could have
seen the harm
seen the failure
hiding behind sunshine
poised like a spider
measuring each trembling
silken event
to determine
when best to deal the killing blow,
dripping venom along pathways,
entering my soul,
withering and blackening,
shrivelling, ensuring
there could be no renewal.

As my eyes dry up and my tongue cleaves
to my mouth
I have no tears, no words.
My skin cracks,
My heart bursts
and death is a kindness
with soothing songs
endless sleep
and no more dreams.

The spider feeds.

Michele Brenton 15th April 2012