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I cross out lines in this tattered book

Like the web in my window where a spider once took

But no longer is he; my spider, my friend

They say all things come to an end

And now in his place an albino moth dwells

Bulging eyes that look straight out of hell

As I look and I write my pen runs out of ink

Each deliberation causes my body to sink

And give in to this pain, give in to this ill

I just wanted to sit and look at the sill

Where eight legs once fed on the living dead

And a beautiful web hid the hole in this shed

– MS

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