There is a
home
someplace
for you, peopled
by the niceties
of a lot of time.

You don't have to fear,
this is heaven,
we are gold there.

Don't tumble
in your covers.

Sleep, child,
there is dessert
in your dreams,
and you can tangle with the spider-women
later.

But,
mother goose,
I do.

I do tangle with them,
their loving arms
embrace me,
and their mandibles make my flesh scream.

I hope I dream a dream
so beautiful
that it destroys earth,
and god,
and heaven,
and you.

I hope the spider-women
come to you at night,
lowering themselves into your bed,
and whisper into your head:
"this is nothing,
this poison shall pass too,
in heaven,
you will be free."

as they say lastly,
"I am your saviour,"
while sinking their fangs baring sleep
into your soft neck.