black widow spider

📷 just sum random thoughtz x< 

Sometimes, I feel like a black widow bit me when I was young—

it’s the only way to explain these deathly lips,

words sweet like a pitchfork dipped in honey,

sharp as sin. It’s all an act, a mask I wear for others,

piercing, stinging, leaving you aching in the cold web I’ve spun.

When the lights go out and the beams slice through me,

for a moment, I feel like I belong.

I don’t need poison, I don’t need the haze—

my skin glows like stardust,

and in those fleeting hours, I always belonged.

Just for a little while, I always belonged.

So I let myself take over.

I draw silver, and it turns to red.

I wrap myself in fabric soaked with chemicals,

the smell so thick I can taste it.

I shove cement down my throat,

say it’s not my fault—I was bitten long ago.

When the acid beams strike my body again,

for a moment, I can do anything.

I can make friends. I can breathe.

But then suddenly, I no longer belong.

The haze fades, the beams dim,

and it never lasts long enough.

Why did it have to choose me?