Some are parasites
who prowl the earth
seeking the living
to feed upon,
who wish to devour
whatever is in their path,
deadened space
within their rapacious wake.
Born of mother
yet conceived in darkness,
bereft of humility,
devoid of compassion,
convinced that no one exists
outside the boundaries of self.
Gliding along a meticulous web
fashioned from a reservoir of
slimy self-interest
that they exude in abundance,
victims trapped within a
fortress of deceit,
consumed by vanity.
Parasites crave indulgence
feast upon lives made hollow
by their own carless indifference.
Parasites are the living dead,
where love is a delightful fragrance
to be purchased and constrained
within the boundaries of acquisition,
where integrity and generosity of spirit
become the enemies of profit.
Some are parasites
who wreck havoc
upon the living world,
consigning themselves to
lonely and miserable deaths.
