Who knew beautiful threads could
force all the air out of my lungs?
It's always the spider you suspect
as you capture the beauty of the web.
No one ever seems to learn beauty
is merely a distraction for the evil
to creep out and wound you irreparably.
It's so easy because beauty
captivates our attention since
everyone craves perfection, but
it's unattainable, a myth.
Beauty is just deceit, an illusion.
All we ever see is the outer layer,
shining golden lies lining ornate columns.
Who actually reads books anymore?
all the information we need is the picture;
it's worth more words anyway.
A/N: So that last stanza I don't think really fits, but I'm not sure if there's a way to word it that would make it fit... any ideas?