Needless Things: Arachnaphobian Nightmares

In the quiet hum between my dreams, eight eyes open where darkness gleams. Threads of thought become spun despair, a web of whispers tangles the air.

They creep through cracks in sleepless minds, their silk like nerves the night unwinds. Each footstep soft, each motion slight, a symphony of crawling fright.

The ceiling breathes, the corners twitch, my pulse caught fast in their woven stitch. Shadow legs trace shapes of sin, the terror starts where skin meets skin.

I wake—but still they linger there, woven deep in the midnight’s snare. Fear is patient, silent, sly— it spins its web behind the eye.

And every blink, and every breath, is just a dance with phantom death. For in my dreams they always creep, Arachnaphobian—never asleep. NNN