Spider Fingers

I don't ask nicely, But when I do, You should assume that complete anger runs through my veins, and with every pump of my heart, another drop of poison is stirred into the capillaries.  I don't ask twice, But when I do, You should understand that an onset has already begun, that there is a double to coincide with my anger, this one is pure malice.  I don't like games, But when they are played, You should know that I never lose, that I stay not one, two, or three, but ten steps ahead of all other players, and like a spider weaving a web, my reach intertwines all; like roots, like slender fingers, like ropes meant for hanging. I don't like people, Who put themselves above, The rules of the game, The other players, The game itself.