Spider's Den

There are spiders in my belly,
Feasting upon butterflies.
They struggle in their webs,
Until their wings get stuck.
They suck their juices dry,
Then leave their husks to hang.
Hunger gnaws at my insides,
In the hollow left behind.
Swallow down more of them,
And we'll turn them all to pulp.
What a resource they make,
Such energy to consume!
Your envoys arrived alive,
But didn't make it past the mob.
You know me to want peace,
But I'll seek it in times of war.
This body's no longer mine,
Something's taken from within;
And all my entrails are woven,
Into a tangle I can't escape.
I have grown into a forest,
Of living things all run amok.
Still there is some flow in them,
As each wave eats up the next.

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