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When I am alone

and feeling wrapped in miles of no one

I crawl into my bathtub

plastic porcelain, 

dry and cool

and sing to the spiders huddled near the drain

they hold very still

and in my narcissism I feel loved

as if they are enthralled by my eloquence and poetry

They lift two frontmost arms, 


mesmerizing concert lighting

I wash my brain and heart with the soulful flow

bestowed upon me by my faithful


as I tell a story and they waive,

I am careful not to disturb their webs in the peeling corners above the droplets glisten

I scoop them gently from the slick and deadly walls

of which there is no

six legged escape

They never leave me

I am not alone

And deep down I stuff the denial

that my own needs are met

in tiled cool temples

of arachnid terrorism