It’s warm here, with my brother and sisters.
We writhe inside the small enclosures of our eggs.
We are the half-formed: brown translucent pods jammed
side by side in the dark hollows of our host.
Soon, our brood mother says. Long, serpentine, beautiful. Soon.
And then—the drop.
We are the fallen, flung from the sky, clustered
in brown globules on the shadow of a leaf.
Come closer, slow-moving snail!
We entice you with our shiny ovals.
You are a languid giant sailing across the leaves.
And you take the bait.
You swallow us down your gaping slime maw, and we
travel down the dark length of you.
There we grow.
We grow in this new dark, forming long tubes, interconnected.
We dig our tendrils into your neural circuits and drive you.
We allow you to travel
To where you want to go—for now—
places cool and moist and dark
Running your creeping circuits around
dark undersides of mushrooms and rotten logs.
We are the broodsacs.
As we grow, we spread out into your eyestalks
preferring the left tentacle over the right,
As we grow, we grow fonder of you, our lumbering ride
and life source
As we bloom, we dance and pulsate in bright green and yellow spirals
You cling to the darkness, giant snail, always
but we draw you to the light and
the warmth of the sun, which catch our colors,
(we pulse in light only)
We draw the energy for our dance
The dance of death
Drawing the eye of a new feathered host
Down, sharp beak, spearing into the soft flesh of you
And we are drawn into a familiar darkness, down, down—
The cycle begins again.
Never trust his hunger -
a man of beefy hands
and watered down marrow
a carnivore thirsty for blood
invading my thoughts,
sucking my lifeblood
as my feet run swiftly
tingling numb presence
his threatening invasion
his words a bite of breaking skin
he is a man to be flicked off
disposable and insignificant
whirling in his banishment
my torn spirit.
He devours me
in the darkness
affixed to my spine
as I pray
to excise him
from my soul
to stop the flow
of fetid waters
It wasn't long before I was implanted in my host,
It didn't take long before I grew in its warm body
It won't be long before I break free
Pushing through and leaving my host to bleed
It won't take long before I'm fully grown
It won't be long before I taste my first prey
It won't be long before I become a queen
So I may pass the process to my next breed
Suck Up Your Gut
Nutrients swimming in
A home fit for a king
In the gut of
Where I can
Not only endure
You will barely notice
As I slurp up
The numerous goodies
You have consumed
A little nausea
Abdominal pain or diarrhea
Hunger or fatigue
But it at all
A small price to pay
For the honor
Of being home to
One of the world's
And unquestioningly glorious
#parasites #poetry #challenge #medical
Interstellar Termite Law
After a long day of work, a termite walks into a saloon and asks the person behind the counter, "Is the bar tender here?"
“I beg your pardon, sir?” said the young female behind the counter, “This is a fully compliant, law-abiding establishment. Our bar is classic, eco-friendly, graphazine-clad, gel-filled, neo-wood-look, Fensterene. Not a real wood splinter in it.” She tapped one long, red fingernail on the bar, which resonated with a muted clunk. “See? It even sounds right.”
The small patch on the termite's shoulder emitted a high-pitched shrill.
“Right!” said the termite, “and that's why my electronics resonancer just went off.” He pressed a button on the patch and a small army of termites scurried through the door. “We got another one, boys,” he said. As they swarmed around the bar and lifted it ½ inch off the floor, they could have been ball bearings rolling it out the door.
The first termite, following them, stopped at the door and turned. “You immigrants from Earth just don't get it, do you? No wood is exempt, not even your imported 'antiques'. You can't just coat them with graphazine and install an echo chip, anymore. One of these days, you people are going to get it. WOOD IS FOOD, NOT FURNITURE! See you in court.”
OK, so do we know there isn't a planet where termites are the dominant species?
I have to live
Have the nerve
It is to break
the only way i can continue to live
is to suck the life out of others
it's a lonely existence
but it's mine
In Your Dreams
I don't want to harm you, please believe me of that. I wouldn't dream of harming you. I will grow off of your dreams that you dream every night; I will grow off of your brain energy. But it won't kill you. You humans never use the brain energy anyway, so in a way, I'm just cleaning up liter so to speak.
Perhaps you've had your brain scanned. Or had an MRI. (Well, those are the same things, but you get my idea.) Perhaps your doctor has noticed an abnormality. Sometimes it's a cancerous tumor. Well don't worry--that's not me, and you really should have removed.
But if it's not cancerous, chances are, that lump of abnormal cells is...me. I'm nothing special, really, except that I enter your head while you're sleeping. I'm not a slug, like the Yeerks, or some weird snail or anything like that. I'm like a vapor, one that you can't see and can't feel until I'm in your head.
You'll really feel me through the adjusting period, usually a week or so after entry. You'll have headaches, fatigue, maybe some dizziness or vomiting. You'll think it's a sickness, and eventually it'll pass. The bizarre dreams might last a little bit longer, but eventually they will go away.
And I'll be in your head, watching your dreams, and feeding off of them.
Parasitic Social Standing
She drags me through the crowd by my arm. With her in the front, people part and we fly past the people. We reach her friends on the other side and she introduces me. They are polite to me because I'm with her. I have her stamp of approval.
Here, I am a parasite. I am using her to thrive.
Laboriously, I drag my exhausted and starved body onward. My legs ache, nearly buckling under the strain. My stomach rumbles, groans, and stabs at me with painful urgency. My eyes blindly struggle to see. My relentless hunger drives me on.
A sudden noise distracts me. Slowly, carefully, I turn my head. Others just like me are aggressively pursuing the same goal. It appears that this journey is a race which only a select few of us can win. Determined, I refocus my attention.
The object of my affections and lust is now close by, but still oh so very far. Momentarily, I confuse the perfume of her body with the scent of victory. Or is it in fact confusion that I am experiencing? Perhaps the fragrance of love is indeed nothing more the seductive aroma of achievement? Now sure that this is so, I greedily gulp the faint and addictive aroma of success, an aroma which grows steadily stronger as I progress.
Heartened, I continue to increase my pace. I will win this battle. My love looms large. My mouth waters with desire. Soon, my darling, we will be one. I fear that you will barely notice the moment of our bonding, but I will feast and grow fat on your warmth, my paramour. Your life blood is the motivation which drives me forward.
For I am a tick, and this is my story.