She called me a parasite, left overs from
life’s petri dish that refuses to die.
There’s no remedy, no penicillin
she can take to remove me.
Like any good virus, I’ve found a
suitable host and I will adapt
to overcome her homicidal urges.
Why must she hate me so much?
Does anyone really hate Love that much?
I’m the necessary infection that allows for
of the bullshit shoveled by the guys at the bar.