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.