He remained, unwaveringly indolent,
fixed in familiarity.
Along the bannister crawled his arachnid friend;
he called him Peter.
Peter emerged every day, every night,
reliable like a rock.
One afternoon, betrayal tore into his skin,
and released its venom;
he collapsed, asking Peter why.
"It's my nature; its our fate," Peter replied.
"Betrayal completes loyalty, my friend."
He smiled at the stained ceiling,
awaited eternity,
delayed indefinitely.
