Black Widow

Adrenaline surges,
that quaking, shaking, breaking feeling.
No recourse for what I am feeling.
Its a deep and dark web we spin.
Spiders in our own tangled web of lies and grave yard of hurt.
Just like the game of manipulation I play,
each little fly has its own strings to be pulled until they are lured to my web.
I pluck the wings off them because I can.
I am that horribly jaded that I enjoy it.
For sport, for thrill, for their agony.
I cause my own torment.
Its not enough to merely feel bad about doing what you do.
you have to want to repent.
Wanting is the challenge.
I will be the first to admit I do this.
anguish and misery are dolls for me to play with.
Until I am ready I will continue to do what it is I do.
I know that I am not ready... but will the rest of the world figure this out?
Unknown.
Until then I wait for the next fly to land on the edge of my web.

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