My Parasite

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.