a conversation sits on the calm morning like a ladybug on a blade of dew dropped grass
nowhere to go and nowhere to be
meandering here or there with nothing lingering but the tiny footprints of a six-legged traipse

Suddenly the air goes still, the aura changes, and before I know whats coming I know one thing
I've said something

sticky strands like a spider's web that was laid years ago and is invisible to the naked eye
I've sprung the trap and the vibration of my words has alerted the hunter to my presence
attracted by my struggle the venomous rebuke is upon me in an instant
ready to feast upon what was once a pleasant coversation, but is now a twitching husk fully ensared

The tiny beats of apologies and explanations only pumps the venom faster and more completely until the conversation is dead
I don't know what to say
I don't know if I should leave or if I should stay
But I know I've said something

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Glacian, in the year 932 AF.