One-Hundred Days

You crawl down my throat like a spider, weaving your webs and trapping my heart and lungs inside the silk strands. I can feel you crawling inside of me, itching and scratching and poking and prodding in places you don't belong.

We stand on the stage, hand in hand as instructed, and inside I can feel your webs falling away. Your eyes crawl along my skin as mine stay focused on the crowd in front of us. The itch of your fingers intertwined through mine send shivers down my spine. You push me in front of you as we walk away from the edge.
You push me down into the trapdoor.

I am left for dead, as are all of the other things you capture in your traps.

You come back for me later in the night, with glowing eyes and gentle words. I stay huddled into the darkest corner of the small space, standing beneath the wooden stage, the slats in the boards letting in light like stars. I stay away from your hands, reaching down to take mine and pull me up into the light of the theater.

Take my hand, just trust me. Come up here into the light, it's better than the dark down there.

I stay in my corner, watching the light illuminate the features of your face. They're harsh, but the gentle words contrast them. You weave your traps through my fingers and I can feel the webs come back to life around my heart.

I have you trapped, you can't go anywhere else but up here. Just please take my hand.

I am pulled into the traps of your arms around me, my head in your chest as you take us farther away from the gaping mouth of the trapdoor, a break in the stage. We sit together intertwined beneath the burning intruding stage lights.
We sit together and I am stuck inside of your traps, the webs woven around my heart so many years ago.

Your traps will never leave me free.