The Spider in the Mirror

James’s Note: This is a creepy little poem I came up with while looking at a spider in the wing mirror of our car, who, for just a second, looked like he was on the other side of the mirror. Heck, maybe he was.

There’s a spider in the mirror 

though it sometimes tries to hide.

It’s kind of hard to see it

‘cause it’s on the other side.

You needn’t fear the spider. 

It won’t do you any harm. 

It sits and spins and guards the mirror, 

like a lucky charm.

Because, you see, the mirror

is a gateway made of glass 

and on the other side of it 

are things that want to pass.

Like the thing that looks like you

when you look in the mirror, 

and when you look away 

it tries to creep a little nearer.

Deep down you know 

those aren’t your eyes.

You know that’s not your face,

and everything about it 

seems just slightly out of place.

Flies swarm inside its empty head, 

maggots fill its eyes, 

and a thousand squirming centipedes 

writhe under its disguise.

If it dared, it’d catch you

with its countless vermin claws

and drag you through the mirror 

to it’s black and writhing maw.

Sometimes people die this way, 

sometimes the mirror wins. 

They vanish without any trace 

and are never seen again.

But you needn’t be afraid 

’cause there’s a spider in the glass.

It spins a web the demons fear

and never lets them pass.

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