Chelicerae
I am suspended in my own time by a thread coiled ‘round my throat by a spider. Hung here to see everything, understand nothing, counting down my miserable hours. The spider has not any young on which to feast, so my heart will suffice her hunger. She has a web twisted through my mane, an awful entanglement of which to contain me by. Yet I am content, for no other has once wasted its precious thread on my desolate being!
Though within the confines of this web exists another. I’ve allowed my mind to go mad with the idea that I may not be the first choice of the spider’s appetite. And I cannot see where it is that she may be, where she may roam. I’ve tried to chew through the limbs that are tethered here, but I’ve broken all of my teeth upon my bones, and here I remain, never knowing just when, or if, she will come for me.
Ah, but if I can just stretch my neck to reach a thread, I can let me hang myself in this web to escape this expectant state to a whole new unknown!
