lonely spiders

A Poem by dining alone

I am blind
despite eight eyes
I am hungry
despite insects
you leave behind

mobile in your sleep
this earth is not sure
who to keep
and who's pure

this is being caught
in your own web
left to rot
given this bed

leashed your dreams
they lap up reality
and cure the thoughts
driven by a disease
birthed by you and me

I have all this gratitude
but nowhere to store it
so I grant it to -

no one anticipates the recipient
because existence is just steam
now there's only dust
to bathe me