A parasite mines into my mind
Scrounging food sources it can find:
Burrowing and bending till it can bind
And ensnare me, unaware, confined.
The parasite has a voice, smooth and sweet,
Which whispers silver in my ear,
Mendaciously making its own meat,
For it thrives when it feeds on fear.
The parasite serves a concerning purpose
As it wriggles through my head
For the message behind each chirp is
That I’m better off dead.
The parasite’s motive is mysterious,
For with my death, it’d die, too.
I see its logic is deleterious,
And push to fight through.
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