You walked into a spot you aught not be.
A traitorous spot you sauntered into.
A fly in the spiders web.
The misery you inflicted and therefore turned against thee.
The spider it eyed the little flying thing.
The honey it sought to grab from me.
The spider is I and the honey that be, belonged to me and only me.
The fly it was tempted to take that nectar.
And took it did, but only for a sector.
The spider it eyed that little queen fly.
Oh, but I, I had caught the fly queen.
I, the temptress, the big empress.
I won that battle and caught that honey.
The honey I spewed out on the ground hereafter.
Because who wants honey that's been spit out after?
I crushed the poor queen fly and ripped out her bones.
I left that honey to make my own home.
For the honey was not honey, but a putrid sepulcher
In which effort did not matter and inclination was abhorrent
The season of belonging and longing made forgotten
The assumption of what was, might not ever have been,
So, I bequeath this inheritance, no longer mine to bare, or bear
I must move on to future's glare