Green Cursor Ghost:You hover on my every word
Burning into my eyes
like a brand they singe on the forehead of a despicable animal.


Despicable Animal:
And so he lives
In the blood splattered back yard
In my bank account
and I touch him with clean hands

He feeds on the remains of my apathy and empathy battling it out
on a grey brain landscape.
With brassy, oily fingers- paralyzed to any worthwhile movement,
he trembles with urges that he controls too well.
He has a tongue that can sing sweet verses but chooses not to like a stubborn toddler
in a bathtub of syrup.
Feet plump and soft, toes curl away from the ground and up his spine.
He's forgotten how to move.