Woven in silk depression even though pure,
I hang slightly on every strand.
I could weave a moment around me
                                        and hang static.

Would anyone notice the slight stillness ensuing
on my web of thought. Or would I just be
a cocooned memory hanging on my own
                                               web of depression.

Only feeding upon myself... A trap of my own doing,
feeding on the misery that I have woven not
realizing this web is  
                                  to capture myself.