There is a spider that wove too many webs.

He set them up for everything, for safety, for hunting, even to hunt other spiders.

He wove so many spiderwebs around him, he forgot which one was home.

A sea of intricate spiderwebs turned against their owner,

the snares and triggers he had laid out caught him in his own traps.

He breaks free, again and again, strong from years of devouring prey.

But the spiderweb thins slightly more each time, strands break.

Prey pass through unmolested, feeling less amused and more melancholy each time.

The spider who had once been so large and strong, venom dripping from his gnarled fangs,

was now malnourished and weakened from his searchings.

And so it went, for years and years, the spider got caught, then freed himself,

but more and more damage was done to his home, his web, his safety.

Finally, as the spider grew old and dim, he looked around him once more,

and saw no more webs.

No more home.

No more protection.

Alone, prey to the world's vices.

And with no one more to blame than himself.