little bug
you exist not
in the forms
that are chosen for you
but in me

and when you arrive
i exist not
in me
but in the world
that your host paints

stripped of the world
i am a blob too

cry tears of joy
pain and anger

with desire to be
and sometimes not

i asked you "what's wrong?"
for the twentieth time
this month

and you did not hesitate
to tell me that
you don't know

maybe i can
try to give you
a new place

take your hand
walk you down

mold you anew
from overlord to
fly on the wall

you won't die
but you will
be less annoying

i hope

i see you
silly little boy

under that nest of a head
or maybe you're a ways lower

behind that tiny heart turned upside down
the one that marks your real one

i see you
struggling to form sentences

staying quite on the surface
saying silly little things from afar


because you don't know how
because you're afraid