Newly woven webs

Glistening and gleaming, almost moist with sheen

Pulling me into dark depths

Where I will never again be seen.

The old webs are lackluster,

Without stickiness or life or shine,

They hang derelict

And I wonder if they were once mine.

Both webs tear at me

Strands of hair pulling at my skin

At one end a fatal trap

At the other preventive medicine.