a flys doom (in collabration with starstruck 13)

Spiders scuttle hidden within their silver web.
The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine.
Feels at thread, and lives along the line.
Inviting a flying fly to come in her circle,
A silver loom for his doom.
Only the spider will hear his screams of dying.
As the fly draws his last breath, within the silverloom.

Desperate crys of ignored grace,
To feast upon ones agony,
Too pluck your wings out one by one,
And thrive among your strife's.
Thine spider web is made of blood,
Woven by fear of prey.
So the spiders dance of crimson silk,
Is so much more than an invitation.