My Perfect Disease

She crept into my mind, again.

Reminding me that she still holds leverage in my mind.

Not completely taking over outright, out in the open.

But subtly running in and out of the sewer system and through the back alleys and false walls of what I want to forget. Lingering like a spider, you spin your delicate venom around the least-noticed corners and forgotten crevices and there, you lay your eggs. Hatching and growing, unbeknownst to the thought police. Immune to the deadly positivity that kills any sign of ill emotions on sights. Resistant to the advice antibodies that ward off any immediate desires of action.

You feed off the past that which I’ve put aside and killed.

You are my HIV, my perfect disease.

My eventual downfall, the perpetual hum that slowly diffuses sweet poison into every scene we star in.

Untraceable and yet, always in infinitesimal measures, you are there.

Find what you were looking for? Find that friend you’d follow along, who’d follow along? Find that fool that fell in love with you? Filled his mind with festering fodder and addicted to the apetite of which you appropriated.

You sweet, innocent, Hocus Pocus witch.

You’ve put a spell on me, and now I am yours.


And never.


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