My mind runs from one corner to a spider's web
Grey shadows with flickering tails
Light appears for the specials
Darkness is my preferred state, anyways

Thoughts are damp, rolling
Spread over a taut layer, they say
'It's all going to be like this."
No one will want me as a dinner guest.

It comes as one, maybe a year
The left temple works, with the right as it's witness
Constant contradictions as this or that
I save a butterfly and smile, then spiders creep in

I sit and imagine the oven
As a gross temptation
I peak into the bell jar
For more butterflies to save

There are none as I understand them
'Those are beautiful monarchs' they say
I reach out, pupils fully engaged-
But, light never had a real chance

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