Edema Rue

To the theatre, regarding a web:

You caught me. 

You wove a careful web

Around my breaking heart.

You promised you were holding me together

But now I can't break free.

You promised you were giving me a home

But now I’m stuck in this prison you’ve created.

Do you do it on purpose?

Do you mean to offer me your treasure, to fill me with your dreams, to blind me with your lights? Do mean to promise it all to me, to us, only to raise your walls and mock us as we stand outside, unsure where else to turn?

You leave us lost, and yet you won’t let us go. You keep us trapped between your walls and your web. You swear that we can make it inside the walls someday, and thus you tie one last thread to keep us from ever slipping through the holes in your weave. 

And with our hope your knot is finished with a flourish.

But what if…what if it isn’t a trap? What if your web is only there because you want us inside your walls?

I got a hand through. Every wall has cracks, and I found one in your heart. The rough edges scraped at my skin, trying to keep me out, perhaps, but I felt the sunlight on the other side.

And suddenly your devious web was really a safety net.

And suddenly everything was right.

And suddenly I remembered why I love you.

And suddenly I would do anything to get through that wall again.

But…

But is this my choice?

Or am I a puppet, dancing to the pattern decreed by your web?

Somehow, though, I don’t think I care.

If being a puppet will bring me the bliss I felt within those walls…

Then turn up the music and dance me to the ground; I’ll live within your web until it finally twists around my throat.

Rue