Spiders

I could almost feel the spiders crawling up my legs, leaving nothing but bones behind. I would like to hold my hand, but I sometimes forget. Forget to rest my mind. It's almost poetry, almost a sin, it's borderline grotesque. The way I live and breathe and run and...die. I die so often, but not quite enough for it to be tragic. I live every day, desperate to find the slightest bit of magic. Quit your mourning.