Thought Catalog - Cicada, Ladybug (Chapter 14) lyrics

He tramps toward me hanging it like a briefcase. And the wall's cooping me inside. I ask, “SPYDER, WHAT IS IT?” His fist erupts from the bottom right like a hammerhead breaching the surface, and my jaw bursts in agony. I stumble toward the swivel-kitchen door in front of the couch, and I taste iron. A piece of chewed bubblegum bounces against the roof of my mouth. f**. And my right hand extends toward the gold rectangle on the swivel door where the knob should be, but the rectangle expands faster than usual when his Timberland dropkicks my spine. My palm swats the door open and my shoulder collides into the tree trunk of its frame, HUMPH. The door spanks the other wall and shudders back, slamming against my head. GET UP. I scramble into the kitchen and “SPYDER WHAT THE fu*k?” And now I'm skating on the fake tile. Again, Spyder's Timberland charges into the small of my back and sends me FACK toward the kitchen table littered with grubby dining ware and my head plummets under the wooden horizon and my temple sledgehammers into the cubed upper part of a table leg. It skids away and I mop the floor. I flatten underneath the table and dishes tumble from this fake roof: a plate and a mug. And when the saucer's circumference meets the ground, it chips into a snowflake, losing its full moon, and ninja-stars in all directions. And the mug implodes like an egg and its stale coffee bloodshot splatters. My temple pulses like adrenaline. I rise. He's wearing red and black and his sleeves are long—have to be long—and shackled to his wrists. Blood? But I savor it at the top of my tongue—I can't feel its tip. “Spyder!” And a sliver of gum flies out with my scarlet breath. At his side, his silver-plated Colt Custom reflects his dark-blue jean leg and the armoire to my left. When he hoists the barrel to the bridge of my nose, it loses its luster and fades into an empty tunnel that leads to oblivion. When he crams the nozzle between my eyes, it blurs away, and all that remains is the ebony side of his fingers and the lines in his knuckles. Remember what he had to do? His mother wasn't one of us.