This is a sequel to one of my favourite poems, The Spider. I already posted that one here before. This poem features metaphors for self harm, and also obviously the topic of insects/spiders, so be warned.
The Spider II
Crawling up my back, the spider returns.
This disgusting primal urge.
I thought...
...
I thought once I put in the work to make it go away,
the infestation would leave.
Anti-insect spray.
A cleaner room.
Thinking of other things.
It's strange...
They did help in some way.
I feel better in many regards.
Not perfect, but better.
...
And yet
Even so...
...
The gorgeous set of eight legs, tiny sensitive hairs clinging to my skin.
Bright, poisonous red pattern against a deep black backdrop.
All eyes, staring at me. Teasing me. Testing me.
I know logically I should leave it.
Morally, it isn't right for me to be so bothered by an arachnid that I crush it every single time.
Actively seeking them out for a reason to kill them.
Watch the gooey guts inside spill everywhere,
hear the crunching of its body parts underneath my force.
But for some reason...
Despite my best defenses, my best distractions, all of it...
...
I'll always want to crush the spider.
I want to kill a venomous one.
Have them all come back to bite me, and kill all of those as well.
The addiction of an exterminator,
and the curse of the spiders on the ceiling.
One of these days,
I will make my first kill.