Identity Lost

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A spider

beautiful, black, orange and sprawled –

sits at the centre of his well spun prism of steel strong web.

Invincible, like a king.

Consuming anything and everything that enters his selfish trap.

 

Spray, spray.

He seethes as the pesticide invades his being –

twitching, resisting, this cannot be.

Falling to the ground – broken, withered, bound;

death cries imminent.

Who am I?

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