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KJ Nov 2014
When it seems like the light is coming through
the darkness comes back
like a PARASITE  attached to an animal anxious to get out
the animal might seem loud and rambunctious
but its true disguise from the predators after it
just another scared animal
by itself, all alone in the huge world do despair
why doesn't the parasite
just let go,put the little animal out of its misery,leave it alone
for all the parasite knows the animal loves it
the animal spends its days putting on a happy face for every one else to see
but when it is alone
it cryed Mississippi and Ohio rivers
the parasite was all fun and games at first
while a HUMAN was caring for the little creature
seeing what the parasite was doing to it
crying in pain getting weaker every minute
he came one day and rescued her from the parasite
instantly the little creature knew what love felt like
a handsome MAN and his beautiful furry LITTLE WILD ANIMAL
the end on the parasite
the end on the horrible attitude and thoughts
but why does she still miss the parasite
if all it was doing was causing the animal pain
then why does she feel so empty
Cross-legged in triangles, shells billow smoke, after everyone's lymphatic system is choked  

Sanctum synthetics - these viral fiends **** - Oh how I loathe silken knights laced in cloak

Vitriolic and fatal - She's spiteful and mean - relinquish your insides, "I want you between".

Riding on horseback their sheaths slip behind, Hypotenuse daggers have poisoned my mind

Isosceles vertices equal - they feast - growling in lateral scalene it creaks:

"Love all my friends," now the beast has a plan, "Triangulate all the new ravens I can".

Colonic intoxicants signal the fan of the chronic conception of too many hands

Again we're in triangles primed for the farce, exit the scheduled-impressionists art

Fantastic, predestined - the sickness is seen as the top hats and wizards make scientists gleam  

He comments, "we all love you carry my breed to the temple of torment, I offer the seed".

Tally marks scoring with scarabs and ticks which impregnate the fleece of these humanoid tricks

Triangles - Triangles - "Beg me to stay".
Parasite - Parasite - "Don't go away".
julianna Jun 2018
I have a parasite.
It's called perfectionism
It causes me to have overwhelming brain spasms
When you ask me to do something out of my
"comfort zone"
If I try to do it, I have to battle against the parasite.
It says things like:
"This is too hard."
"Give up, it's easier."
"You don't care about this!"
I'm practicing self-soothing methods,
Ways to drown out the little parasite's
Nagging voice.
It is difficult.
It is hard.
But I am stronger, I am the host.
Rachel Baines Jun 2015
She’s the girl who you'd always run back to,
You’re the boy I’d always run back to.
She’s the girl who gave you the chills with her beauty,
You give me the chills with yours.

It’s funny how times change,
People you once loved now become strangers.
But- she’s a parasite,
Always latching onto you and taking what she can.

A symptom of a parasite is disturbed sleep,
She disturbs my sleep.
When I close my eyes I see her eyes,
Staring into yours.

One cure for a parasite is coconut oil,
But no oil or remedy will remove her.
The thought of her makes me aggravated,
Intimidated because really I’m giving her what she wants- you.

I’d like to say everything was fine until she came along,
However, she was always there.
We are smooth like foundation,
Then she comes along, our plates collide and the bumps in the road grow.

Now, I’m not one to gamble,
But I bet you’re talking to her right now.
Sorry I mean, I bet she’s talking to you,
Because we both know she can’t get enough.

I know you feel bad for her and I know you love me,
But why do you feel the need to type to x’s and give her promises I’ll make sure you won’t keep.
See, bless her, she’s having trouble moving on,
Clearly she loved you more than you loved her because you turned a page and started writing a new song.

The girl doesn’t threaten me,
I know we make each other feel new.
The only thing that makes me hurt,
Is how you aren’t letting her get over you.

You compliment, flirt and put kisses,
Just so she stays tame.
But to her you compliment, flirt and put kisses,
Because you clearly want her again.

She’s the girl who you'd always run back to,
You’re the boy I’d always run back to.
She’s the girl who gave you the chills with her beauty,
You give me the chills with yours.

One cure for a parasite is coconut oil,
You know her a lot better than me.
Maybe she’s allergic to coconuts…
Wuji Sep 2011
Are a,

My blood,
All day and night.

I like the distance between us,

The thought,
Of ripping you off,
Causes me great fright.

I look at you,
My parasite.

Cannot believe,
There is anything more beautiful in sight.

For you,
Have my blood,
And replaced it with venom.

And plan to bomb my heart with terrorist.
Go ahead,
Send 'em.

For I know,
That when my heart explodes,
It will be too much for you to bear.

And you will explode,
Into a scarlet blaze,
Knowing that I no longer care.
A relationship shouldn't feel like leech therapy, should it?
Yenson Jan 2019
“It's very difficult not to come across as a supremacist when there are so many black inferiorists around.”
― David Bullard

Look!..he's a leech, he's a parasite
That black man is draining the Taxpayers
He comes from a rich family, they say they are titled
Look at him, educated and refined, arrogant as black ****
Go get him, the ******* parasite cheating the working classes

Why not tell the ******* truth
That a white family of thieves broke into the flat of a black man
Something that they had done once already and caught but let off
Because they were neighbours and pitied, police were not involved
They did it again and were called thieving working class scums

Up comes hail and thunder and war
Their Militant leftist friends say it Anti-monarchy Revolution
Say's victim is a parasite and a leech, robbing the working classes
Go get him, his life destroy, cast him asunder, hound him to hell
Down with the rich, this is war, people's power, this is democracy


They can't bear to see a black man do well
They can't bear a respectable, decent, confident black man
To then stand up and call them out to their faces was the ultimate
They are supreme and all else must fall before them or put down
A black that is not a Black Inferiorist must be discredited at all cost

If the situation was reversed
And a black thief steals from an equivalent white with same status
(   He comes from a rich family, they say they are titled )
Would the reactions be the same
(Say's victim is a parasite and a leech, robbing the working classes )
Honesty says NO, you know it and we all know it

(Supremacy has taught him that all people of color are threats irrespective of their behavior. Capitalism has taught him that, at all costs, his property can and must be protected. Patriarchy has taught him that his masculinity has to be proved by the willingness to conquer fear through aggression)

But the black man becomes a leech, a parasite a threat
For standing up to white criminals and daring to call them out
Devious political  chicanery is unleashed and our Supremacists
All rally up, totting falsehood and misinformation to cover truths
Why don't see any Class war action in Kensington and Chelsea

What really bothers some of you is simple - and you corrupt others
Blacks must always be inferior and if they are not, you fight secretly and covertly!
Because only you have the God given right to live decently
Only you have the right to air your opinion or disagreement
Only you have the right to call it as you think you see it.

And you'll fight tooth and nail and with everything else to keep
it that way!
“Whiteness mitigates crime, whereas blackness defines the criminal.”
― Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2018
the second phase of marxism is:
why do people enforce Hegel
to commad, when neglecting
              i find Kant to be neglected...
of all schwabe...
     bewildering: like admiring
a yoyo sling...
             if there ever was
a dialectical materialism,
  capitalism is profound,
in that it killed communism when
communism was a premature
death -
            too young to
match up to the relieved serfdom -
yet communism will continue
to subvert,
           it will sentence
the subconscious with a tease -
said poet - said terse -
       otherwise the scaffold!
dialectical materialism has
morphed into
dialectical historiology -
        could it be an exclusion
of space? by comparison
the 20th century is absolute
in these times, its not relative,
yet relativism pervades
the narrative...
            we always and always
have lived in absolute times,
the allude to relativism
in a framework of temporal
affairs will never achieve
spatial democracy,
   untied from the spaghetti past...
love it or loath it,
         the 2nd phase of
the: ignoring Kant while
fervently adamant concerning
Hegel trusts what is
already apparent:
journalism is a trans-categorical,
                journalism's primo
concern is the loser white
living with his parents,
little do they know of the investment
paid by the man who
entertains being patient...
the ones who send their grandparents
to homes for the elderly,
quack out a Bulgarian **** joke
by now...
   a baby is far from an Alzheimer -
rotten memory,
   rekindle imagery of
lost years...
ensure that memory is
a citadel, and not some
     meagre fancy worth the pillage;
of those who find thought
least entertaining,
find morality the hardest
the fathom -
for the said concern,
lacking a mediating ought -
principle theta;
buckle on the P -
boss around a cleavage,
       pardon, rho alt romeo,
ultimatum grzechotnik...
   rattler... god i hate crosswords.
- because of journalism
history has become irrelevant...
   i hate journalists,
journalists are to me
the grand inhibitors of
what's necessary: inhibitions...
the journalist is the new Jew
to me...
         a leech, a parasite,
akin to the parody of a kiss
under a mistletoe...
  ever set foot on Slavic lands?
ever see a tree, plagued by
a mistletoe?
  mistletoe is a parasite...
yet you kiss beneath it,
cranium above myrhh's worth
of crown...
ever see a tree riddle with this
  as i once said:
the cancerous man better
invite the sight of the botanical
cancer akin to the mistletoe...
  only in Slavic lands,
akin to mole mounds
   (maulwurfhügel -
germanem, faust, chem -
czyli chmiel; zdrowo)...
and yet the social norm is
to kiss beneath this botanical
             easier seen
on a botanical body
than on a heaving gloat -
          yet have you ever seen
mole mounds, or mistletoe
on a tree in its wintry skeletal
          what a sad sight...
but a sight kept, as reminder...
western lands do not
allow such trivialities -
quasi-germanic Gaels -
               akin to the labours
of the mistletoe -
sometime mistaken for
abandoned nests of migrating
birds -
   man lost,
in the advent, atomising
the percularity of swan
and stork nobility -
namely monogamy...
             feeble man knows not
the sixth sense bypassing
sight of ghosts:
   fickleness -
     and chance of adequate
temperament stagnate-:
for the exploration of
the civilised caste.
         mistletoe is a botanical
              in the wild i've
seen it green on branches
of birches and oaks -
while the host hibernated
the parasite grew...
    yet this kiss-me-lovely
parasite never managed
to bind itself
to the acidity of the pine,
the evergreen, the prickly
needlework of insomniac
              and they
make amends with a kiss,
under a parasite...
     how horrid wild
mistletoe is,
  what else to comfort a cancern
patient with,
  if not a tree labouring
with a likened strain
of excessive bulge?
o, right...
  dialectical materialism has
been replaced by
dialectical historiology...
        at least the 1st tier
achieved something akin
to competition...
the second tier of communism
is merely confusion...
   economical model intact...
yet talk of ****; thoroughly.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
written while talking to a dear friend, Irene, who i met on my travels to Paris, and who i'm spotted with, in a photograph, by the Moulin Rouge, hunched in homage to Quasimodo, with Paul the wild haired australian.

i'm always depressed before composition
and the first whiskey to
stop me throwing up anything i might
but then the seemingly graceless magpie
with its extended tail flies into eyesight,
then the blackbird, the crow, the seagull (huh?!
30 miles inland and a ****** seagull?)...
and then i open my eyes a second time,
take off the eyes that see lust gluttony colours
and shapes, and put on my x-ray spectacles
of looking at a white page and typing for a while...
and then a song crops up and it bothers me,
mortiis' parasite god from the album *the smell
of rain
, if there is such a thing as a parasite god,
we'll be constantly thinking about it,
it will be an ontological implant of ours to
then debate whether we're atheists, theists,
gnostics or agnostics... it would be a burden, indeed
an oversized tapeworm to put it mildly -
but then the other description floating about,
the entitlement of a title, akin to prince, knight,
sir, baron or baroness or even a marquis...
the lord of hosts... and with vain attempt at sounding
in blossom of a magnolia tree attentive of courtesy,
a host is someone who contains a parasite,
why would i want to contain a parasite of thought in
me, that would necessarily sway me from denoting
myself an atheist, theist, etc.?
atheists do indeed uphold the principle stated in this
song i mentioned mortiis' parasite god;
i among the jews a parasite of the host of
ancient egypt;
i mean, they always say they're atheists or whatever,
they want that little sticker at a speed dating gathering
hello, my name is, queue (oh sorry,
, but when it comes to
defining what sort of thinking defines you as such and
such, it's vaguely satisfying to hear a presupposition label,
followed by a string of even more unsatisfying propositions,
and since i'm not a fisherman in that department,
i think i'll just stick to what i know, or at least what i think i know.
Casey Nov 2012
Vaccuum-sealed sorrow
Cancer's curse
I wait for tomorrow
Hope it doesn't get worse

A parasite to the soul
No one has control
They let the poison in
But the tumor grows ag'in

Until they finally cease
Like a dog with fleas
Treatment is over
Nothing left to do

Except wait

Wait until the parasite consumes you
Eats you whole
There's nothing left
The mare leaves her foal
LJ Eaddy Nov 2014
I been living a fool's paradise
Honey you made a fool in paradise
I really never knew
I was a parasite to you
Oh oh ooh oooh
A parasite to you

Eating away at your happiness.
Giving you pains
You never knew exist.
Patched up your heart
And broke it into


I broke your heart
Now all things sweet
Tastes too ****.
I'm sorry for hurting
You so bad,
Now it's time
I take your sad.


I wish I'd known
What I did.
Before it had to get like this.
But know I sing
Our final goodbye
With this brokenhearted lullaby.
I never meant to hurt you...I'm sorry.
natalie anderson May 2016
youre so warm
your tendrils touch with fiery kisses
each tip caresses my skin
you are the embodiment of safety
your love fills me to the brim
I slowly fall asleep in your embrace

eyes lidded
catching myself before I fall
snapped awake
you make me feel so good yet guilty
your touch starts to feel *****
without you I fall ill
I know what you are now
you're my favorite parasite

gorging on my morality
I need you, I want you, I crave you
without you my safety is gone
exposed as I am to the masses
I cant extract you from my veins
why did I let you in?
if I could trap you in a box and seal the lid,
I would
my favorite parasite

once loved and cherished
now feared and despised
without you I feel nothing
without you I am cold
I seek the light the warmth
the safe place you once put me
I reach for the sun
I pull myself up
face turned to the new warmth like a flower
a fiery heat without you
I cut you out
my favorite parasite

I found a new drug
a new day
a new love
and it is not you
it is clean
stark white
a new warmth a new light
Wack Tastic Nov 2012
There was an order, the hierarchy promised,
Advances made a transient path,
Clans of parasites threw up banners,
Announcing with great cries who they represented,
They held spirit above all else,
The will grew strong and arrogant,
They were lied to and sheparded,
Committing horrid atrocities in their name,
In the wake, they destroyed their homes,
By the end the host was left barren,
And the paramount parasite,
These pests that felt entitled to it all,
Became extinct to the body,
Given back to the host and rejected,
The spirit and will that was so prized,
Left a foul taste in the mouth,
It was too late to do something about it,
The host and parasite joined in gloom,
Sweet, beautiful remorse was all that was left.
His skin was once ivory; elegance in its most basic form
He now screams of deathly paleness.

His fingers were once long, talented; connected to me
They now scrape at a chalkboard; scrawny, poking, prying.

His voice was once profound and alluring; a British orient
It’s now faded into annoyance, degraded into pain, the loathing of every octave of arrogant, pompous sound.

The time changed & the mind changed
But I’m left mindfucked; wondering what this means

My feelings, an optical illusion?
His reality, a state of indifference?

I reckon I’m glad, to be rid,
Of this horrible, horrible evil little parasite,
Hopefully, he’ll be kept at arm’s length
For I don’t think I can bear
A creature so afraid, so undead.

**Dear Parasite,
This is the last you’ll hear of me.
Go bloat and float arrogance somewhere else,
We have no need for it here.
heart break
Madds Jun 2012
"Pink-haired parasite."
I think that sums me up quite nicely,
Thank you,
But you must understand, sir,
That I do not wish to be clingy,
Though, I cannot help it,
But I am broken and destroyed,
From my past and beyond it,
Too many people have walked out of my life,
For me to fully understand that everyone leaves,
My head too rotten by hate,
To ever fully accept myself,
And this heart too shattered and young,
To ever know not to fall in love,
Well, atleast not so quickly,
I am this horrible mess,
And I will not blame anyone but me,
So I apologize, sir,
That you couldn't handle this "pink-haired parasite",
Usually known as me.
I don't know.
Alan S Bailey Oct 2015
The parasite that bites, that always bites in the night,
The parasite that does so fright, it bites who it will, whoever it might,
The teeth so sharp the tongue that hangs, it ***** and ***** and *****
Again. It's the parasite that bites, tasty thrills are it's delight,
The eyes that blink the watering mouth, the open lips,
You are the one the parasite decided was the best to pick,
Salivating and drooling, it just can's wait for it's turn to take a lick!
It's all about when you've gone to sleep, they go to work,
They feed and feed you're all they need, you'll do quite well...

And all the while you are supposedly evil and you're going to hell!
Hope White Jun 2018
It's taking everything I’ve ever had,
not to crawl into the crevice between your arm and hip.
I want seep inside of you
and live with you,
like the parasite I am.

I’ve bribed to God to make you love me,
And bargained away my future sins.

I want to forget the golden retriever
You took on walks longer than our love-making,
And the way your body writhed beneath my touch
Like a body bracing for a car-crash,
And how with every kiss
I could feel your rigor mortis set in.

I want to read you poems about Kurt Cobain,
While we do ******* at midnight in Golden Gate Park.
And watch you have a visceral reaction
To the memories
Of the times you tasted someone else’s skin.

Instead I’ll
dye my hair black,
Cancel all my credit cards,
And run away to Chicago
to Cheapen myself
and reek of Popov
In a dive bar next to the railroad,
That no one’s heard of
so you can tell strangers
in the subway
and at the New Year’s party,
(at which you’ll meet  your wife)
how much I’ve always meant to you
and how
You will always wonder what happened to me
(Even though
 you won't.)
I think of karma of a mental parasite rather than a celestial courthouse. Yea I mean they'll get what's coming to them but this "mental parasite" is so much worse. It's a mental parasite as in the way you've done something you now believe everyone is capable of that. The way a thieve thinks everyone is a thieve. Its something that plagues the mind, makes one weary of others.

(Expand at a later time)
Cerebral Fallacy Jan 2014
It came upon the good doctor to clutch it in his palms
An object so sharp that blood oozes over its tip
Touching and clutching it he weeps tears of excess
Excess of the desire from where emerges life

Nothingness is the very excess that flows beyond being
Beyond the infinitesimal horizons of cosmic pleasure
The devil at play beyond the confines of the mind
Language the immanent trap that infinitely failed

Moving beyond the pale meditation of holy dignity
Gods emerge from the midst of haunting madness
The excess of the gods, divine excrement turn into dust
The sweet aura of the banished god- the scavenger

The very life of the gods contained with death and play
They danced across spaces, traversed beyond scope
Their bodies decay as stars while their excess reaches within
Within every marked desert of intoxication that grasps infinite depth

Weeping in the midst of the great gulf, the gods fade as the night
They emerge as beasts and flowers amidst the deep of the sea
The fall into madness, excess, passion and excrement
Perfume is but the odour of man turning into dust

Even the glory of the gods reflected divine excrement
Every entity an extension of another, the cosmic essence
That binds and destroys life as movement unfolds beyond reason
The essence beyond the shared catastrophe that binds life to itself

The good doctor watches the blood ooze from the body
Blood being the testimony of immanent frailty which traumatizes being
His tears dilute his blood as trauma sustains life
It falls into the ground and the divine fruit is born

The essence of goodness contained within the germ of madness
Madness that tantalizes the notion which shames reason
The realm of divinity where infinite wisdom dwells
It dwells in the midst of bliss- Ananda !

The God of Bliss awakens as the stench of being enters the heavens
The creator weeps as he watches the excess of heavens multiply
The object that the good doctor possesses drives him into oblivion
Never more is the world haunted by the gods !

Bliss even the bliss that is found in the mountaintop
Where the last god lay and washed his feet with perfume
And the milk of the divine yak nourished the heavenly nymphs
Charged with ****** excess, paradise lay in the midst of hell

The good doctor returns to the womb from whence he came
Beyond the confines of trauma, desire and being
Every creature watched as he lay the world bare and nacked
Never again will the gods return to plague the world

Then lie the bodies, cold, writing in pain and pleasure, leaning on love
Bodies that desire the gods of old to sustain trauma and jouissance
Where is the good doctor now? Whence will he return my love?
And there in her eyes, the beauty of the world lay

I looked at her and in an instant her eyes transformed reality
Oceans swept the depth of the horizons, stars became angels
Time turned into eternity and the darkness ebbed into nothingness
Trauma was rent apart and life was bound by divine love

I kissed her lips and as I wept I beheld the good doctor
He lay dying in the depth of the traumatic vengeance
His organs lay in the excrement of totality
His eyes gauged out, his ears rent apart and his mouth torn asunder

His limbs were scattered and his intestines emptied
The years of his life at an end and his body dismembered
Disseminated, the stench of the lifeless corpse filled the universe
I looked at her and it was the stench of love

I looked into the heart of darkness and I wept
The sound of my anguish filled the halls of time and space
The pillars of paradise was torn asunder and rent Hades apart
Eternal sorrow that sustains our love

And then as I beheld the futility of existence I kissed her lips again
I closed my eyes and I experienced the touch of the heavens in her mouth
And in the infirmary  his body lay among the dead
His organs burned as a sacrifice to atone for existence

Existence, trauma and excrement echo the cry of divine justice
And here the body lay without its organs and we were too sorrowful was beyond measure
We then buried his cold body under the stars in the heaven
We saw the scars from where his organs were rent asunder

A corpse contains the testimony of death as he gather everything to himself
But a corpse without organs? What does it contain?
Must it not contain death and trauma itself?
And here his hollow body lay, and death the parasite

A parasite's life lies in the life of the organs within the body
When the organs cease of give life, the enemy perishes
And death lay dying in the grave he decayed
The good doctor lay in the realm of darkness forever !

The blood and his tears have now produced fruit !
It was its fragrance that brought life to darkness
In the darkness of the night my lover went into the grave
Fearing not what lay in the midst of the darkness

Wind is the master of time, she flies beyond the medium that she animates
The wind carried in her ***** the fruit of blood and tears
And then she saw that the keeper of the dead leave the confines of his realm
The wind blew beyond measure into the land of the living

And then I kissed her in the graveyard one last time
For she was too sore to live but her eyes spoke one last time
And there I saw the good doctor was not dead ! He smote his foe in the deep !!
His fruit was now beyond the grave where they lay him !

The hollow of his body is now the testimony of love and eternity !
And there I awoke from my dream and my heart skipped a beat !
My desire was water was now beyond measure and I looked into the river
In the sky I saw that love is the very excess that engulfs desire !
Yenson Jul 2018
A while ago in East London, in an area called Poplar
a black man lived with his wife
Quiet, hardworking, law-abiding they both were.
never courted a scandal, never committed a crime
Just went about their business, working for  better tomorrows

Then next door a Scottish family of five moved in
and immediately started borrowing from couple next door
Do you have sugar, do you have bread, can I borrow a fiver
till our Giro arrives next week, please another tenner for Jim
He has to pay a fine.

Empty beer cans littered their doorway, they all drank like fish
fights and arguments rang late into the night
Police visited twice, thrice weekly and it was known Jim burgled.
and was always doing time, when not drunk and fighting
Joan eldest girl was pregnant at sixteen and Tom fourteen had
done two stretches in juvenile detention
Last daughter Kelly was also to end up in the duff at sixteen

Amounts borrowed was now sizable, the odd fiver repaid
stolen items regularly offered and rejected by quiet couple next door
Invites to the black man to visit while Jim in jail politely declined
Come and have a drink with me and my young daughters
No thanks, got to go and cook, my Mrs would be returning soon.

The family from hell has turned the neighborhood to hell
constant break-ins all around
strange men coming and going, fights and noise, beer cans
for carpets, stairwells reeking of ****, Tom and friends and
Marijuana fumes graced the stairs and veranda.
Mrs Scottish and two young daughters constant smiling invitations
to black man next door, duly always deftly rejected.

Black man and Mrs decided to stop lending money
it was all going on beer and smoke and never paid back
By the end of the week, their car had been vandalized and four
wheels removed, racist leaflets started appearing on veranda.
No more smiling coyly invites, now just loud music and loud
intermittent bangs on walls from next door.
We must complain, we most report all this to the Landlords.
No, lets just ignore them, not worth the hassle.

Then it happened, black man arrives home one afternoon
and finds his front door ajar, they had been burgled.
Seething with anger he stormed next door to be met by Mrs S
'you ******* thieves have robbed me, how can you be so low,
after all we've done to try and help you. None of you work, You are a bunch of lazy
workshy, welfare scroungers, you are pathetic lowlife. why don't you go and get a job instead of burgling houses and getting drunk all day long
I will start a petition to move you away from the neighborhood.
You no-good non working class scums'  a disgrace and an affront to the hardworking working classes. You ******* racist bullies, I will show you, you can't
mess with me'

Mrs S smiled wickedly and said, you will see
'character assassination, public humiliation, we'll ruin your life and you'd wish you are dead by the time we finish with you and your chicken legs wife. I will show you who runs the manor in East London.'
You can't do that, black man replied, I have done nothing wrong, you are the bare-faced thieves, you shameless woman. We have had enough of you and your anti-social behaviour. You are not going to mess with us no more!

OH, YES! they can and by jove, they did.
Mrs S retorted' You are the foreigner here, you are the one that would be leaving the country
and going back to your Jungle'.
Black man called wife to tell her, she came home immediately
the police came, no evidence, here's a crime report, get your door
fixed. How about searching next door, we can't, no witnesses.
And then Black man's life changed FOREVER.

Should I write about the intimidation from other white families
in the neighborhood, should I write about how the Local Socialist
Party got involved, and launched a propaganda campaign about a black Conservative member dissing the Working Classes,  should I write about how one of his beloved dogs was
killed, should I write about a rumour campaign that black man was a wife-beater, a ****, a con man, a greedy parasite, should I write about sudden hostilities and bullying at his work place, how his wife was also sacked, about being randomly insulted and abused in the streets, about kids spitting on him, about being shunned inexplicably by locals
he's known for years. Should I write about outrageous fabrication, smears and humiliation.
Should I write about political victimization, about the black man 'who thinks he is better than us all,' about how a wedge was driven between him and his wife, till she broke and upped and left without warning,
should I write about how strangers shouted 'solidarity with the working Class' at him, should I write about daily torments and constant harassment everywhere he goes, should I write about Criminal gang stalking,
should I write about being informed they were going to ruin his career, ruin his marriage and ruin his reputation, check, all done. S I write about how they said they were going to chuck mud at him everywhere he went and blacken his name forever, should i write about pure isolation, about being made a target and being  hounded and stalked and disrespected everywhere. Should I write about how they stated they were going to drive him insane and drive him to suicide.

Just  know that somewhere in London, a decent, law-abiding progressive, and innocent black man, is now on his own, broke, in debts and on Welfare benefits, unable to find a job, friendless and isolated, discredited and shunned.  He is still being stalked, harassed and hounded, round the clock. All for daring to stand up to CRIMINALS.

FallenInTorment Oct 2012
Alone. Always alone.
Feeding on the souls of the fallen.
Watching the weak crumble, like paper.
The hearts of the unloved are black and bleeding.
And the shadows of all that is dark, awakens.
Fragil, hopeless, innocent, and broken.
We are all alike, but not one of us can compare
to the desperate creature, the insidious stranger,
killing all which is pure and luring us into the arms
of a fatal sickness, such a deadly parasite.
Sam Hain Jun 2015
It feeds and grows within the host;
It stretches the skin and swells the belly;
It dwells as warm as buttered toast,—
This toothless pulp of genes and jelly.
It soils the lair in which it lives
And wallows there within the waste;
And not a single **** it gives
That *** is an ever-present taste.
It sickens her and spends her strength
And causes her, the host, dismay,
Till it outgrows its den at length
And exits in a dreadful way.
And where the creature takes its leave
Is almost too terrible to believe.

September Nov 2011
Grow,   apply,   adapt.  As  ink,  we
seep   and  sink   into   surrounding.
Bring  with  us our  virus,  desirous
as we  come.  Sum  up all  we  have
gotten  and  it  is  not near our goal.
Soul  of   good   intentions  but  the
weapons    in    our    arms     speak:
"Weak!     We shall conquer all that
do   not  adhere!"   Clear, we   have
a  slightly  strange notion.  Motion:
**** the parasite that makes us sick.

we are the Universe tick.
It was late when I thought of this, tried to play on the idea that we are the virus of the universe, trying to **** the 'true' virus.
Zigmaz F Jun 2015
Nothing but a parasite
Feasting for the veins
Thriving for a waterfall of excitement

**** it in
Without hesitation
Relax for a moment

Liquidation of thought
Runs a river of peace
To an inconclusive feeling

I'm never letting go
I am alive
I am here

Let the parasite run its course
Extermination begins at the death of the soul
SøułSurvivør Sep 2015

I've done some research
On cancer's cause
Western medicine, Dr Oz.

They don't have answers, I'm afraid.
And the cure is in what GOD made.

Cancer's vector? A simple virus.
A parasite and a fungus.

Candida overgrowth.
Radiation. Stress.
We all face this in the West.

So are there answers? Well. Let's see.
Tell me if you don't agree.

Sodas should go down the drain
They have sugar or aspertame.

Sugar feeds cancer. Cut it out!
I KNOW that this will make you pout
But you can find nuts a tasty treat
Find some that you like to eat!

Say NO to coffee. All caffeine.
Eat kale and other leafy greens.

If you want nutrition saved
Cut the cord on your microwave!
They watered plants
with water nuked
They died. Nutrition down the tubes.
So no TV dinners. Processed foods.

No fruits or veggies grown GMOs.
WHEAT is bad! And on it goes.

So it may cost a little more?
Shop your local health food store!

What does it matter?
What's cancer's cost?
And your life will not be lost!

If you tire of reading this
There may be important
things you miss... READ ON!


Blackstrap molasses. 1 tablespoon
Baking soda. 1 teaspoon
Mix with a glass of water and drink.
(Baking soda should be found at
a health food store)
Blackstrap molasses can also be used
topically for skin cancer.

Tincture of the husk of the
Black walnut nut. 2 drops
Tincture of clove. 2 drops
Tincture of wormwood. 2 drops
Mix in a glass of water and drink. Add lemon and honey.
It'll taste better.

Get distilled water and add
Minerals in liquid form.
Your health food store will have this.

There are many herbs and spices
Which help.
There's iodine in common kelp.

Soursop tea. Green tea sans caffeine
Fresh vegetables of the rainbow...
Colors are viamins!

Vitamin supplements
Especially B-17

If you can't find these in your
Health food store ask them to order.
Or go on Amazon and order.
I spent a lot of time researching this.
If you have any questions please contact me via the site message system.

I know that there are some who
Can use this information.

There is a Talkshoe program that
Discusses natural remedies.
724 444 7444
Wednesday 9pm eastern time
43503#  1#
Host: BadBaby
Debayan Deb Nov 2013
There is sight, but no insight
There is light, but it's not that bright.
Brain says good night,
Finding myself in a sorry plight.

Shut myself in a cocoon
Body and mind out of tune
Confusion and ignorance attune
Didn't think it'd happen so soon

Closed my eyes to see the colors dance
Felt the nerves going in a trance
Unaware of the surroundings
Flew with the my newly found wings.

One deep breath and thoughts die away
The warmth of the lips forgets the fray
Smell of liberty heartens the soul
Mind opens the door to the ultimate goal

As I exist without control
I feel my fingers burn like coal
Sense come back with a drum roll
Nicotine rushes in like a parasite.
Kagami Nov 2013
Silent crackle, tingle,
The smell of a sticky must. Floating dust in
An abandoned attic, where the rats roam and the dead skeleton of a fish
Still lies in an empty bowl of moldy rocks and plastic plants.
Yet, despite the emptiness, a girl curls up in the corner, black
Running down her face as she weeps for the things she longs for most.
She looks out the *****, broken window at the cloudy sky and imagines it
Blue. The brightest of skies with only few hints of cirrus.
A blanket on the ground and the man she loves, nothing else in sight.
The expanse of green in her head is contrasted to the rotting floorboards she lays
On, dreaming. The steady beat of Boy in Static thrumming through her headset
As she struggles not to scream and jump, finishing the job on the window
From troubled teens years before. The sound reminds her of VHS tapes,
Press rewind, take a turn and start over. But she can't, when something has changed.
The boy she knew, looking down with his hood not up, but covering his face, shielding
Himself from her. She knew he had a ***** in his head, but she just looked away. He never answered anything she asked. He was unable.
But her heart still dropped, she smiled her best. An amazing actress, fooling everyone, makeup allergy keeping her eyes dry. She just read Huck Finn as though nothing was wrong.
Now she sits in her room, writing and shaking her head. This line is not right.
Her walls were full of color and poetry, but her mind kept wandering to that attic.

She was there again. Blankly staring at her star charm anklet. A simple blue ribbon.
And the throbbing of her heartbeat through that one spot on her thumb,
That pressure point that hurts more than anything. But one thing could be worse.
Being left. Just like the broken rocking horse in the corner and the baby's cradle
Lined with blue silk that was shoved into a box. That baby is probably dead. Just like all
Of the others who lived there, burned by the fire. Goose flesh raises, prickly
Hairs on her legs from a week of no shaving. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Bleed.
Change the song. Bleed Like Me. Perfect. She draws on the peeling walls, two hundred
Years of wallpaper and lead paint, chalk barely leaving a mark. She sketches a masterpiece.
A child that she wishes she could have. Impossibly too young, but still...
A daughter she could raise better than her mother raised her. A chance to do something right.
More than the mechanic life she has lead, empty and useless.
Confused and pathetic. Like the broken grandfather clock that ticks backwards.
Three, two, one.
Ding-****, ****-ding. Grandfather never taught me anything. He was not a wise man.
He was a fool. Knew too much and too little, no room to know what was right.
She let another raindrop escape and suddenly it began to pour. Lightning crashes as a glass
Slipper collides with the picture drawn of her dream. Thunder as she releases a
Bloodcurdling scream. "Why!?"
Why her? The pain in her back is unbearable. She slouches too much, and her eyes burn.
She is not Cinderella; her ball gown does not glitter.
Piano is her least favorite instrument, but it somehow gets to her. Small hammers
Striking her heart strings, low notes reminding her of his voice and the soft, feminine
Voices radiating, remind her of when she was young... Immortal. She has aged since then.
Too quickly. Her entire life has been a masquerade ball. Unskilled idiots dancing
Around her and stepping on her toes. Shouldering her in the stomach,
Breaking her ribs. Beats of music guide her skilled toes, swerve around falling raindrops that
Her own eyes emit. And she crashes through the floor of that dismal attic. Broken free,
But she is still trapped. The walls are charred down here.

But the walls are not painted black. They were once a mint color, green and cheerful, healthy.
Until a psychopath lit a match.
"I didn't mean to do it." It was all in her head. The house.
She set it aflame.

She sits in her room, writing and shaking her head. This line is not right.
Her walls were full of color and poetry. It isn't worth it to stare. Nothing will change.
She is still just a girl in a glass box, being stared at and judged. Trapped and ridiculed because her eyes bleed and bless the onlookers with bad luck. It's amazing the things
That people don't know. Drifting deeper into a pit of endless darkness. A candle won't
Live down here. No oxygen to let it breathe. But one lit self portrait hangs in the air.
Years ago, drawn in pencil. Symbolic, it wants to be erased. To die.
And the ******* the page is wearing a mask. The girl in the parchment is me.
Medium length hair and a tear painted, permanent. A Parasite. Capitalized for its meaning.

A demon is running through me, singeing
My tissues, blisters on the insides of my bones. Swelled up, show through
My skin. Waves on a shore. But I am not a beach. A ***** maybe...
Still, I hate it. The hate killed whatever flowers I had left planted in my mind.
Tainted me with the horrible visions of a tear streaked face of paper mâché.
She was the one in the attic. Her whole persona
Wilted and ashen, grey. A silent movie might mask it; the hurt, I mean.
The grey lines on the screen hiding the bags under her eyes and the redness of her nose,
Get rid of the twinkling shards of glass frozen on her cheek from crying in the dead of winter.
Slip up once, and everything goes to hell. Well, I must have slipped years before I was born.
Few smiles are left on this dismal timeline. And I shall use them wisely. But, for now,
I think I will just weep, sleep forever and hope that you don't give up on me and pull the plug.
I am still here somewhere, just dormant. Please wake me up. Get me out of this charred cabin,
This glass box. Pull me out of my warped sense of everything, teach me again what
Love feels like. I have forgotten amidst everything that I have felt and remembered.
There is no more room for things to be learned. Only for things to be repaired.
I will give you a hammer. Come inside and fix me; that ***** in your head couldn't have taken your knowledge away. You are the only one that knows.

Use this never ending lightning and bring your bride to life.
Gul e Dawoodi Dec 2014
Humanity is the root
Respect is the stem
Love is a flower
Peace is it's fragrance
Religion is a garden
Hate is a parasite
***** blood of love
vanishes peace
Ends respect
Kills humanity
Makes religion look ugly
Every religion teaches humanity, love and peace. Hatred burns everything but that isn't the fault of any religion.  It's the fault of humans.
NeroameeAlucard Feb 2015
A big planet
filled to the brim
with chozo ghosts
X parasite hosts
and things that want me dead
my power suit lost all the beams
missiles, energy tanks,
space jump, even additional armor is gone
I'm all alone on this world to conquer
but I don't have time for a bad fur day, I must get onto the impact crater....

Samus Log Entry 6/1/2119
Bee Dec 2017
Pathetic parasite
of a woman
love indefinitely,
a plague
upon hopelessly
romantic people.
A performance.
Smiling, always.
good news and
sleeps around,
in black light.
Wearing sunglasses.
Her day is
She breathes
instagram posts
to survive.
But thrives, only.
The numb gummed
princess cries
every day and
yes. She said it,
a hundred times
proves flexible.
Same words mean
different things
and we
obviously don’t
speak the same
I meant mine.
I didn’t know
she’d sell hers
for snow.
Attention from strangers.

Welcome home.

Winter came and stayed,
love never lived here.
The memory of you haunts me,
just like a ghost.
You were a parasite,
I was the host.

You ****** me dry,
of all my life,
and left me there to die.

You were my friend,
my love.
But I have had...

Enough with all the *******,
you put me through.
You give me no **** space,
no breathing room.

My mind's made up,
I've had enough,
with all your stuff,
we're through.

You were my friend,
my love.
But I have had,
You were my friend...

My world is fallin',
I am callin' you.
I realize I can't live,
without you.

So am I the parasite,
in this relationship,
who knows?

The memory of you haunts me,
just like a ghost.
I was the parasite,
you were the host.

I was wrong,
you were strong,
but I kept pushing away.

You were my friend,
my love.
But you have had,
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
ryn Sep 2014
I am the entourage
Of a fantastic mirage

I am the agent
Of my mind's figment

I am a believer
Of mythical creatures

I am a builder
Of splendid architecture

I am a drunkard
Tripping on futures so absurd

I plan construction
Of my own destruction

I am the feeder
To dreams of grandeur

I am a magician
Of wild, potent concoctions

I am a tycoon
Of emotional typhoons

I am an adept
Skilled in exploiting concepts

I am a parasite
Brandishing fangs that bite

I play host
To a monstrous, hideous ghost

I am an addict
Of thoughts derelict

I am the dreamer
Incapable of anything lesser

I am a diver
Sinking deeper and deeper

I am an insatiable thief
Claiming trophies without grief

I am an emotional hermit
Hoarding my all in a bottomless pit

I am a weaver
Fabricating tales that meander

I am a Neanderthal
Adopting behaviours and habits that appall

I am an ape
Mending wounds that gape

I am but me
I'm blind, fighting to see

I am rhymesmith
I lie through my teeth
Getting hard to breathe
Heart to words, I seethe...
Adellebee May 2012
Be brave young parasite

For the war of the worlds strikes at midnight

Grab your claws and retrieve your arrow

There is still something left to fight for

Our women are bruised with the fear of the fall

And the empire washed out the crown

And religious ***** who fold their knees to obey an invisible folly

Falter and sway as their scaffolds crash

So be brave young maggot, it’s only you

You must burn the bridge to divinity

And rope the sinners and free agents

Bound them to their rebellion

For the chalice broke way for a hopeful world of peace
Pagan Paul Mar 2017
Slip your arm around him and smile,
tell her that she has beautiful style,
bring love and friendship to them all,
then stand back and watch them fall.

Shower compliments from way up high,
be with them all to laugh and cry,
share their pain and share their lives,
whilst in the darkness sharpening knives.

For rumours, and cursed words you weave,
behind the scenes, intent to deceive,
to bring them crashing to their knees,
and conquer that which has you displeased.

Then laugh until it hurts, somehow,
the means may have justified the ends,
but take a good look around you now,
you no longer have any more friends.

© Pagan Paul (25/03/17)
I was going to call this Ingratiate and Conquer.
I changed my mind.
Rafael Melendez Oct 2015
And as he sat alone in his room, he felt bitter remorse. Who is it that he hates? Himself, or God?
Maybe he'll die someday and remember what it felt like to be human, but until that day comes, he's nothing but a parasite.
David Huggett Apr 2013
I woke up this morning and I was tired.

what was I tired of....

I was tired of waste




global warming

ozone depletion













green house gasses



I am so tired of being tired.

I am a planet that is tired,

it is time to rid myself...... of the human race.

I am the earth I am alive,

and the human race is a parasite.
Yenson Aug 2018
But why do they do all this, I asked, shaking my head pitifully.
Its unimaginable  the amount of time and efforts they expend,
over nothing. Not to mention having the inclinations for such

She leaned in closer and whispered conspiratorially as she puts
down her glass, while she waved at me to lean in closer too.

Her cute lips barely moved as she whispered theatrically,
" this is a secret, don't quote me."
I nodded.

" POST TRUTH" she uttered, " It's all post truth, they have put
all their people in a post truth world and they all live in post truth now"

"Do you know what Post truth means?" she asked, her eyes glaring inquiringly in a straight gaze at mine.

"Yes I do I replied, basically its, ‘relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief’", I trotted out. Leaning back in my seat, I considered this, and what she had just shared.

My plight has been Orwellian, from the very start, but I honestly wouldn't have believed people would be so gullible in this day and age. But then who was it that said " No man ever went broke overestimating the ignorance of the public".

Internally I processed things again, Welfare spounging Crooks burgled me, I gave them a piece of my mind, crooks call on their Socialist mates, who then launched an unjustified campaign of
slander, vilification, harassment, hounding, intimidation, ruining
my marriage, career, reputation and my health. I, the victim of a fowl crime becomes the villain and the criminals gentrified working class heroes.

It all seem implausible in Modern Britain, this day and age, yet it's all true.

My silence prompted her, " I don't like it myself and you already know how I feel about them, but..... and she shrugged her slim
shoulders and the look of sadness and resignation in her eyes says
it all. I felt sorry for her, only God knows the leverage, inducement,
threats or dirt at play for her cooperation, given the nature of the ***** politicking that's been playing all these while
and the  results of former experiences. Poor thing, I mused,
knowing her private life was at stake now..

In Post truth terms, you are a rich arrogant privileged and greedy chauvinistic parasite who deserve all you're getting and more. 
Their propaganda machine is devious and slick. 

I couldn't help acknowledging the disingenuous politicking at
play here by our Red comrades, the nasty racial undertones of my
plight had been white-washed, the theft of my hard earned possessions is bye the bye, the bullying and intimidation by the
neighbouring criminals and their subsequent gangstalking covered up. now, what remains is hapless me, alone, unsupported and just the heinous distortions, the misinformation, exaggerations, slander and disinformation exists, and all these are falling into receptive ears by the bucketloads. The general public's moral compass has been twisted and befuddled if not totally obliterated.  

I sat in silence and for a short while, we both avoided eye contact,
finally we looked at each other. She knew I had got the picture and
for a second I saw sorrow in her eyes. Then it was gone, you could
almost glimpse this was a sentiment she wasn't allowed.

I had seen that look before from quite a number of others, nobody dares act against the wave, nobody wants to be considered a traitor
or a sympathiser.

I tried lifting the mood and changed the topic, we made chit-chat
and found laughter in some places, we finished our drinks and left.

On the street walking I once again felt sorry for her and made a
conscious decision not to see her again. I was a persona non gratia
now, and it's not healthy being my friend. Friends are compromised, debriefed and used as baits or informers. I have become a dangerous person to know and the truth has been murdered, cut into little pieces and then incinerated into ashes.

They had perhaps forgotten that TRUTH lives forever, the truth
is the TRUTH and remains the TRUTH, no matter what you do to it.

Your guess is as good as mine!

Goodbye dear friend, I watched her walk away, there was an unusual slowness in her steps and she looked back at me just as I was turning away, I did not turn to look back at her again,

I knew I will not be seeing her again................
Post-truth politics (also called post-factual politics and post-reality politics) is a political culture in which debate is framed largely by appeals to emotion disconnected from the details of policy, and by the repeated assertion of talking points to which factual rebuttals are ignored.
‎History · ‎Summary of the truth is contained in the poem - WHERE IS JUSTICE on this site..·
TW Jun 2016
Am I the parasite?
The leech that latches for days and drains,
The mosquito that ***** and savours the blood,
Do I cling too tight and push you away?
Am I weight that sinks you, deep in the mud?
The weather balloon tether pinned down to the ground,
Superglue poured on the perch of a birdcage,
Am I tear in your plane wing, thirty feet off the runway?
A lead lining to your new kite, recieved on your birthday.

But a bird that doesn't fly can never drop from the sky,
Runway flight failures don't cause a stall and a fall,
A balloon can't be popped by air pressure down here,
And lightning won't strike a kite with no height to it at all.

So maybe I'm the safety net,
A prison tower, but the stablest,
The delicate balance of freedom and danger,
Is something I'm not aquainted with.

— The End —