I felt the needles in my eye,
They pricked and pried, feeling fried.
A sharpness best forgotten still,
The pricking points needling me ill.
A faint crawl beneath the skin,
Atop the skull, the bone, again.
Beneath the surface, icy cold.
Pushing forth the eye of mold.
Needles jab and dance, they flutter,
Around the socket, eye melts like butter.
Funny though, they don’t look metallic,
Needle-like but more organic.
Like creepy-crawly tiny legs
Of a fearless flesh-eating arachnid.
My eye, my eye! It’s been taken from me!
Inhaled by a creepy-crawly I didn’t not see.