Spider Man

The hate. It rages;

burns my shackles to reality

until I am no longer bound.


So I whither and shrink and hide,

like an arachnid,

in fear of being crushed,

slips underneath a door frame.


In hopes of escape,

from the descending shadows my flames create,

I hide.

I run.

I fall.


And every line I write

is a web I shoot.

Hoping to grab, grasp and clutch reality

So as to save my soul

from the abysmal, bottomless black.


Before my eighth and final leg sprouts

And it’s too late to turn back.

Before I reside evermore in a web of façade and lies

Before I consume people

as if they were flies.

This poem is about: 
Our world


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741