(no subject)
The spiders of insecurity had breeded and multiplied. They spread all over her body like parasites cornering any good thoughts that were created in her brain and then feeding from those until they diminished to a pale gray shadow. In the morning she'd look in the mirror and attempt to brush the spiders from her hair. Yet there was never any thorough transformation. Their webs were weaved so tightly they clinged to her skin. She dreamt of being reborn, of emerging from the waters clean and shining. She awoke in a cold sweat from which the spiders drank and grew stronger.
This, for her was death. Death that lives and breathes. Constantly living, constantly destroying.