Ego

The mind rests in mourning,

like soft mildew in the fog of winter.

Finally aware of the dark seed within it.

A seed which has sprouted, spread, and tangled throughout;

growing like a tumour;

a cancerous, malignant, destructive web of black;

tightening its grip around the mind –

in an attempt to defend the very thing of which it destroys.

The monstrous seed sits inconspicuously;

powerfully;

at the centre –

pulsating.

Conducting with ease the orchestra of its lifeless musicians.

Stare.

Stare at fear itself.

It does not want to die.

Die.

Die.

Die.

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?