Newly woven webs
Glistening and gleaming, almost moist with sheen
Pulling me into dark depths
Where I will never again be seen.
The old webs are lackluster,
Without stickiness or life or shine,
They hang derelict
And I wonder if they were once mine.
Both webs tear at me
Strands of hair pulling at my skin
At one end a fatal trap
At the other preventive medicine.