All I seem to remember
Are the hollow eyes
Peeking from behind damp walls
Walls dripping with misery and the cold winters day
In a land where no flowers break through the heavy clay
Even though they try their best
The beast always catches them at the stem
Tears the blossoms out in calm rage
The feeling sold by its empty eyes
Like a useless spy
Wandering the streets sick with smoke
And liquor

Under starfull skies
Praying to God for a comet
To yell my wish at:
“Oh,to be more than just a clump of cells and flesh and bones
Patching together my soul
Creating something mine
The only thing I can call so“
Because I know each breach carved with the steady occupation
I could lead your hands into the gaps dug by
My litospheric plates moving
                                                   shifting
                                                                colliding
Far too soon

Now I have forests and mountain ranges
Peeking out of my veins
Spreading the dark ecosystem of my mind
I can feel the frost and the gloom biting trough my skin
The fog covering my every inch

Fangs dangerously close to bones
The only part clean of the parasites
Unlike my tunnel-disrupted skin
The penetrated veins sticking out of it

Slowly decaying away
While my heart fills my leaking body with new blood
Sisyphean effort
The life that goes to waste
But stains the flesh a vibrant red
My half-alive corpse
The only thing radiant on this grey lifeless street

The monster slowly kneels down to my side
Pierces its talon through my bone
Sells me to death
Leaves my core to rot
Defeating its defences like an unknown weapon
Injecting terror into the cold white stuff tangled around my heart
                                                                                     stuck around my veins

It sets me onto fire
Letting its own creation burn
For the sake of its pleasures
As the luscious woods burn to just skeletons and dust
The hollow eyes filling with the shadows of the light
As it snarls
A twisted caricature of a smile

Parasites: they insinuate themselves
into your head, your heart, your art

They exist in the schizophrenic zone:
the lower right corner of your painting
looking for patterns that go to childhood,
the well rehearsed gestures that
allow them to take over,
plant the image in your agitated brain
that makes you doubt your love,
sign over your entire identity,
make you think that they can ****
with a scrape of peach fuzz,
until everything smells, feels,
tastes exactly the same-
a collision of **** and water
that knows money and not art
is the iron that smoothes
out all those creases.

The concrete jungle is the exam.
Their goal is to dominate it.

You enter through the black portal
searching for the thing you lost
in the right corner a long time ago-
the thing you call son or daughter-
tapping out SOS with your forehead
on the button on the wall
that connects with the light outside
until it reads SON to that distant brain.

Whether you **** someone or betray
your country doesn’t matter.
It is just the thing you keep
hidden  in the basement
that doesn’t know  
that all it needs to escape
is to walk up the stairs.

The light is burning us,
The air is drying us,
Death is upon us,
We are all wriggling,
In your *****.

You love, hate, hope, fear and plan, do you?
I am your tapeworm, I am inside you.
You are my universe.
I don't love, hate or fear, I don't need to.
My only hope is that any egg of mine
Makes another one of me in an
Island universe like you.

He stalks like a cat.
Then he roars aloud to scare out their attempts.
He is bringing swinging claws.
Swinging from his metal paws.

He only wants the human his master thinks.
To rip apart their work stink.
His brothers rumble the ground.
They also fly from the sky circling around.

Remembering the sounds of cries of the past.
Just like his brothers to sneak a midnight snack.
Not only that but the pesky insects that feed.
As they try to fight to end a world of greed.

Roaring once more at the parasites host.
Only one can save them to grow.
He throws another roar to the wind.
To be, feed, his fill of skin.

Not to be hated but always feared by his foes.
He will go wherever his scent will go.
Try another round of joe.
What he thinks no one will ever know.

Right now we have all we need.
After the far cry is heard he is swift at the deed.
Try again and again to ravage the pain.
What he finds out might make you go insane.

Some would say the lush green forest on the mountainside is perfect
But I know almost every forest
Lush or grey
Is plagued with disease
Whether it is the tiniest of parasites
Or the most destructive of predators.