Spider

The poison underneath the skin of my right hand has spent its course finally and reduced its affect to only two tiny protrusions marking the exact spots where some spider defended himself from the threat of my sleeping body. For two days the otherwise veiny back of my hand has been crimson and smooth from swelling and I marvel at the physiological irritation caused by the delicate and crushable fellow that descended on my hand with everything inside of him. All that he had to throw at me flooded my protruding blood-vessels, and then in a furious battle my body kept every microscopic drop centralized in a two-inch space.

Spiders mystify me. Though their potency is often times debilitating for me, causing every joint to swell and for up to five days I've been unable to walk or open my eyes.

I wish I could have seen the eight-legged dancer when he deemed me hostile. As a child I used to seek out spiders' webs and stare as they mended gaps, and lurked for the less-fortunate. The spider would carress his victim with silk. SHHHH! Slowly coaxing it to stop struggling.

I have never received such red-carpet treatment from the predators, but they routinely punish me for admiring them.

I wore my Spider Man shirt today as tribute to the buggers.