Its fly day, the tenth of August

God in heaven made the fly,

But never got round to telling us why.

He sent down the spider to catch the fly,

But why oh why did You make the fly?

 

I fly into a house and land on some bread,

Spreading my germs while getting well fed.

I crawl on the wall watching the world go by,

Looking out for preditors so I don't die.

Suddenly into a spider's web I did fall,

Entangled in its stickiness unable to crawl.

The black house spider grabs me firm,

I wriggle about like a fishing hooked worm.

 

I can't escape the spider's fangs no matter how I try.

Is this going to be the end,the day that I will die?

My wings are torn off by the spider's feet,

And into his mouth for a tasty treat.

For his dessert he grasps my right eye,

It hurts soo much I distressfully cry.

He rips my legs all apart,

And fumbles around to find my heart.

The phone goes off next to my bed.

Thankfully I am not dead.

 I don't have to give a distress call,

I was only dreaming after all.

◄ A sad wish

The transfer of pain machine ►

Comments

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M.C. Newberry

Fri 10th Aug 2018 14:37

Suicide in dreams is one thing - but this sounds like
insecticide!!

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Taylor Crowshaw

Fri 10th Aug 2018 14:12

I was squirming by the end. Enjoyed it.
Thanks Hugh 😃

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Jon Stainsby

Fri 10th Aug 2018 13:32

Hugh,

This makes me recollect Metamorphosis by Kafka.

Thanks,

Jon

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