It came down to your devil ways

Left, I was,

to ruminate your devilry;

for, what is left behind

...but a broken web?

Thin lines woven and

tangled over years,

precursors to the ropes

keeping me down;

constantly knotted by

your tricksie fingers,

spinning to the tune

of your own little lies...

who knows what kind

of knots you'll make.