You are a sick,
disgusting,
repulsive existence.
An irritation on the flesh,
an itching venom under the skin,
A **** that looks so innocent,
yet harbours so much malice.
Rooting yourself in their minds,
an unwelcome guest.
You are a solidified disease hiding amongst others,
blending in until some poor fool
catches your eye.
You root yourself within them as a memory.
Not even Canker can drive you out,
But by this time you’ve done your job,
You’ve wrapped them in your bitter toxin,
And no matter how hard they may scratch,
itch,
pick,
you don’t care,
because you've done your job,
you've ruined someone's day,
So you go looking for others to damage.
It's like a single brush and then ...
... you're gone,
but you’ve left your mark,
you've left your poison
That is your existence,
and for that I must suffer my mistake.