The Spider and Shadow
I have a spider that lives on the corner of my mouth. Right on that place where it's supposed to curl up when I smile. But the curl is long forgotten. Goodness knows I've had the inspiration to pull the sides of my mouth back into my cheeks. Moments with loved ones. Bad jokes... But the spider. Her silk is strong and binding. The corner is anchored and has been for some time.
I can feel her tickle when she tears down an old funnel web to build a new one. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I catch glimpses of her, ghostly and translucent yellow, picking over the fine hair on my face. I never have to fear eating my words. She eats them for me. She steals them, injecting them with venom. Sickly sweet venom. When I want to say, "I love you," the my voice gets caught in her web. It comes out sly and deadly. Her whispered murder. And when you say you love me too, she lassos your words with gossamer thread and keeps them for herself.
My life is held captive by the secret parasite that no one else can see.
I catch myself in moments of absolute paranoia. I can see his shadow flitting in and out of my peripheral vision. He darts in just long enough to let me know he's watching and vanishes before I can turn my head. He's so close I can smell him. A weird odor... Like sour sweat and blood on the verge of clotting. It sticks to my tongue, but only on the left side. Tastes like iron and vinegar.
But I keep my fear to myself. They lock people up for thinking like this. They lock 'em up and publish their rantings in Psychology books and poetry collections with Sylvia Plath. If only they knew... they work next to, walk with, rape, laugh at, and generally co-exist with a crazy person.