Poverty

Poverty is a disease. His disease was corrupting me until I found out the roots and deplanted his psychological games from my mind. He still has part of me, the part that's whithered away and frozen in air behind my head. I didn't want to be drained and diseased. The connection was haunting though, don't ever underestimate that. The power of words, the lingering memories, the mystical poetic texture of movements. I believe these were mutually felt by both of us, but then the parasites hit. I have affairs now, every now and then, with myself. I listen very carefully, to myself, until I am plagued again with another radiation-ridden, cell killing, limb-deteriorating diseased man, until I am deceased.