It’d be nice if garlic could ward it off.
Or a holy symbol. Sadly,
it not only developed a tolerance
for those, it absorbs them, sometimes,
uses them as armor.
Keep all beauty away from it,
because there is nothing too pure
for it to devour.
And oh, how it loves to bite,
loves to gnaw, and tear.
It drains you dry,
while it whispers promises.
You can fill the hollowness -
as long as you are willing
to thrust the ache into another.
It’s so easy, stealing strength,
so you can overpower reason.
Cannibalize your humanity,
so you never have to look in the mirror.
Song Choice: Break Stuff by Limp Bizkit
This poem is in response to the prompt given by A Dash of Sunny: Hate's A Parasite That Robs the Soul.