A dibble dabble in the stream-of-consciousness style, by Alan Osmundson. All  punctuation errors are intentional

——

they skitter, they skitter around, they make the sound of a thousand clicks and a million clacks in the quietest room, clicks and clacks and ticks and tocks draining away, sucking away the seconds minutes hours of life. they click and clack and tick tock with the spiny legs the legs that are long like the ocean and sharp like knives, like pushpins ready to be inserted into the wall, the skin. do they bite or are they sneering, do they pinch or is it a caress like the devil the devil whispering murder bloody murder into my ear, murder for your own sake crush the opposition like a gnat under an elephants foot. i want it away I want it gone but how does one approach a thing that cannot be human but only malice only the embodiment of the worlds hatred sitting standing stationary at the corner sneering not biting not yet. will it go away if I leave it, if I shut my ears and close my mouth and sleep will it still be there in the morning will it sneer will it bite me in my sleep and if it does will it hurt like the knives and the pushpin in the wall but will I even know. but I don’t cover my ears and I dont close my mouth and I am wide awake and its hatred comes into me and I hear the whispers and I crush it like a gnat under an elephants foot and it sneers but it doesnt bite