Lo! Beware! The Nightman has cometh again.

His long pincered legs used to scuttle towards me,
black nightmares pumped fast through carnivorous veins,
as his exoskeleton: the moon, enslaved.

He spindled his thread, turned my skin gray, my eyes red.
Lethal snares held tight a soul begging for sleep.

And now the Nightman cometh slow.
But why? What hath changed?
He prowls the maze of my bedridden brain:

his thin legs limp one after two after eight,
his once strong silken web has sputtered, stalled out,
his shining armor seems to be in eclipse.

It is a parasitic relationship
and the host is dying out.                                                         .