[POEM] Pest

The pest

skulking among

my rose-tinted life –

that parasite,

immune to the most powerful

of mental pesticides I can afford –

this intruder gnaws

and claws

and digests away

at the foundation of my prudence.

Its refuse and drool an acid,

corroding the remnants of sense left to me.

Succumb, and I fall to driveling and rubbish,

to confusion and false nostalgia,

to self-loathing and mental beatings,

to denial and weeping,

and finally,

to abuse

and regret.

Then to the healing,

the proper pesticide is delivered

and all but one alien thought is eradicated.

And then that one begins to feed.

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