wriggle little fly wings riddled with ascorbic holes. Why don’t you dance for me. Vibrations puppeteer all six of your legs and you, squirm. Filthy fucking fly, your high pitched pander is a buzzing and your legs are steeped in the shit you feed to other people. Once so agile, itching hands like a mastermind, Pretty buggy eyes wasted on this flailing, panicked pest Where are your fly friends? To swarm me, Choke. Devour. Pour into my mouth, like a writhing oil spill no, you have found yourself alone: And I am the spider.