Arachnaphilia

Bind me with your threads of silk
I'll be ensconced in other's skills.
From your bite, I struggle might,
but suck me dry, you will in time.
What other kind of sticky web
your personality imbues
in me, your friend, in lonely life,
in memories, I keep on file?
There I'll hang, bone and skin
as you've absorbed my very inks.
I'll write a page with feeble wrists-
immortal death dolls, built with straw.

You'd call it an autobiography,
the word I'd use is autobiopsy.

(Wakeful venom haze among the dying and the dead,
lie as I upon a floating cemetery bed.)

Your marriage to a living corpse
labels you unwidow.
Proceed,
my eight legged treasure,
I am certain
you will leave me empty.
Even more so,
my eight legged treasure,
I can see that
still you tempt me.

Flail away with troubled mind,
and nowhere get from silken bind.
Conscious grip that I within,
Find liberty renewed again.
Freedom bound by unbound love
released from tyranny of blood.
Spins my mind around with ease,
awake am I enough to see
his amusement hereby front and sated
purely upon the way I taste.
Fast grown straw undying dolls, I learn,
but even faster do they burn.

You'd call it an autobiography,
the word I'd use is autonopsy.

(Warned once to not accept whatever he would have to gift.
He gives by means of taking ‘til there’s nothing in me left.)

Your marriage to a living corpse
labels you unwidow.
Continue,
my eight legged treasure,
I’m quite sure
you’ll leave me empty.
Even more so,
my eight legged treasure,
it’s apparent,
still you tempt me.