I read a story once
About a bug that crawls into people's ears and lays eggs in their brains
Ever since then I have to cover my ears to fall asleep
It's funny that people think that way
That they matter
That a story WILL happen to them
Because at the end of the day
It might

Through the telephone wire (remember those?)

crawled in an earwig, such a talented insect. He

would take over, chew and choose the words,

words heard or not, from time after, a stranger

called to tell me you were dead. This bug in my ear,

sent by a stranger to allow a coping mechanism in.

That voracious little beetle heard everything since.

What he does not spit out, relayed through pinchers

immutably clamped upon my right eardrum. This

strange and pleasing tic of mine, my earwig

is evolutionary. Something I consider gifted from

Late Triassic period, a time I refuse to remember.

A transmitter and editing device, only letting in

what is endurable, so I need not wrestle with rest.

My happy parasite, working so hard to eliminate

pain of many deaths that came after first one,

all the lovers lost. Pestilence still vibrates

through a tuning fork on back end of bug.

Chaw and discharge, seeping out my ear can

no longer be ignored. No longer holds on.