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.
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.
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.
everyone has a problem a trouble not everything is all joy and no ones life is perfect
I'm sorry we've had to sleep on the ground for the past three weeks Would you rather live in a place with such an unstoppable grief? That's a harsh realm of parasites across the street Piled right up your shoulder blade is concrete They sadly noticed my silent birthday wish was wings To leave from the entrance, of the air I breathe