“The Candied Spider”

Falling in the black,

needles from decades past.

When life hands you venom,

you drink it with honey,

throwing up flowers and vinegar.

Devouring the red,

it goes straight to your head,

narcotics standing in your stead.

Passion and poison are one in the same,

collections of a home make,

keeping you awake.

Roses in your hair,

this fancy nightmare,

courts the craving.

And on your tombstone,

engraving.