Ten legs, eight broken

To the spider,

he shadowed creature in the corner of the room
I hate you.
You scared me just as your brothers and sisters did before you,
and i will tell you what i told them,
you are a trespasser that does not belong here.
you entered without knocking.
Roamed freely like this is your home and decorated my walls with unwanted, silk webs without asking.
You may not be the only killer here, but only one of us is innocent,
and it's not you.

The spider says to me, it's brittle body squashed and dying,
It's not you, either.
There is venom infused in my fang-shaped maws,
but i was born this way.
What's your excuse?
If you could count your murders, how long would you be counting?
Am i really this threatening?

I thought human hearts were bigger that mine, but you have killed with malice instead of marrow of your bones and poison bubbling behind your scowl.

And i'm sorry for scaring you,
but i didn't know being seen would cost me my life.

Maybe
If you didn't fabricate the prickly feeling of my legs creeping upon your skin while I crawled across the living room floor,
If the webs I weaved were made of cotton candy and captured clementines, cherries, and sweet peas rather than struggling wings and blood;
If i had a pink tongue, push fur, a wagging tail, and fur legs instead of eight
If i had only two eyes, and they were glittering stars and not supermassive block holes;
If i was the same but looked different;
maybe you wouldn't hate me.

Maybe you wouldn't have loved me, either, and maybe you still wouldn't have let me stay,
but maybe you would've shown me the door or a window.
Maybe you would've shown me mercy.
(But you are still standing, and I am still sorry).

I think
maybe,
no matter how reluctant,
mercy would've been enough.