sometimes

 
I whisper nothingness into webbed secrets meant for keeping
it is a sacred art, this silk spinning
the web must be kept taught to alert me if someone approaches,
near to my sacred thoughts I keep private

a tangled mess much like the widow
a labyrinth unless my darkness escape me fully
I keep it under wraps, this madness

sometimes a thought slips my lips
and I have to act quickly
covering the bleak with some positivity

I wonder of my DNA code
am I human?
or some other species
what is madness in this place
is higher intelligence elsewhere

I am regressed to uncover my magic
I've hidden the key even from myself
in case I'm discovered
quietly weaving my web

what is deceit to some is gentility to another