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Spider life and me

There’s something foul living in this body. The smell is that of something rotting. It’s the dead spider inside. She crawled in, and then she died. She laid a bunch of eggs somewhere in the uterus and they have started to hatch.

That tingling feeling when I think of you is actually thousands of tiny spider legs drumming their way through my body. The local pharmacy has no cure. Various creams that take away fungus, itch and unpleasant odours. Unpleasant odour? It is unpleasant.

My uterus is scratched where her rough body has layed pressed against the tissue walls and it’s full of swollen infected boils where she’s bitten me. They say I’m lucky.

Her children are curious little beings. When I look into a mirror I can sometimes see their sharp hairy fangs poking out through the skin, followed closely by black shiny eye beads. When they catch me looking they quickly withdraw into my head, snickering. I chase them with razors.

When I cut I see blood, my own mixed with her filthy. As her children grow bigger, they stop fitting in the smaller veins. If I’m to get them I must aim for the thicker veins deeper inside. Maybe I can kill them all before I lose too much blood. Wouldn’t that be lucky.

The water here knows all my secrets. It gets mixed up with me when I bathe or wash down pills. Through the pipes of the entire building the tell-tale water runs, whispering and laughing. When I go down to the basement the washing machines glance at each other and roll their eyes. She tried to drown herself again. Can you believe that?

I keep threatening the spiders. If I die, where will you live?! I scream at my reflection. They snicker among themselves and one or two of them whispers that dead is just as good. They say they feed off of the things I eat. Maybe they’re just trying to put thoughts in my head but I’ve stopped eating just to be on the safe side.

I threaten them with doctors. What if I should find someone who can actually help me, who can remove them? But they won’t let themselves be fooled. They know I don’t dare go outside. 

Because when I walk too fast, they start running, their little legs hammering through my veins and then I think of you.


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