Leech

By Shelley M. Latreille

In the Southern corner of your bad idea,
waits limitless possibilities that are teeming
with acidic advice, which strangles my wilderness.
The forgetfulness of your sedate humor wreaks
havoc upon my humanoid presence.
I will splinter your words into sharp and unending
pieces and pierce them into your flesh to bind you.
The disaster that once was you, will fade slowly away,
forgotten, hidden, and eradicated from view.
Save yourself, if you dare, from this terminable scenario.
Fashion your veins into a noose and hang around for a bit.
Time has no cure for the common leech.