Spinning the web of lies, You believed your small world is everything. Hurting anyone approaching you, You believed the sky is square. “That’s it… I cannot expect more.” You said. It’s false, too. Your gaudy pattern looks sad. A paradise bird unusually spoke to you. “Strip a butterfly of its wings, and come here.” “You can do what you want over here.” Pink Spider “I wanna go.” Pink Spider “I want wings.” While ignoring the captured butterfly’s begging for mercy, You stare at the sky. “I hurt you, not because I hate you, but because I don’t have wings and that sky is too high.” “You can use my wings, Spider. You don’t know how hard it is to keep flying, but You’ll realize someday that You have been in the air under the control of someone And you have called it freedom.” I cannot fly well with borrowed wings, And I fall head-first. Pink Spider “I’m done.” Pink Spider “Though I can see the sky…” Pink Spider “I messed up.” Pink Spider “I want wings…” Beyond that sky I glimpsed Birds go south “I’ll take off again, casting off this silk. With my own jets, after that cloud goes away.” Pink Spider The sky is calling. Pink Spider Pink Spider Pink clouds flow in the sky.