A Parasite We're Proud Of -

It lives in every niche and biome that we know of
In the religious, the agnostic and those who know there's no god
Harsh blow, but you know, that's how it goes once you diagnose why the show goes on and on and on.
But surely, you wonder, there's an intermission, to this parasite television, to raise your hand and ask permission,  to overcome indecision, and reach just outside of blinkered vision
To scratch
That painful itch, which you can't see
"Don't touch" they say "it will pass naturally, eventually, just you wait and see."
"Oh that's a relief" you say
"I thought I might have been born this way"
But this infestation underneath will lessen day by day
So you go away and you decide
To hold onto that belief with pride
All concerns are pushed aside
Ignoring the churning, gnawing things inside.
Until too late you realise that it's not lessened, it's multiplied
And it's in everyone, in their minds. In the fleshy spaces behind their eyes
It's a horror, made to terrorize
But when you try to cry there's just a nest left inside so instead of tears out it slides. A parasite.
And it puts on a suit, and a nice new tie and tells you that we're all doing fine.
And tells us all to form a line, so we can clap at eight and ignore the signs.
Like why do others starve while I thrive.
Like why am I honoured and they're brutalised
Like why did I live when others died.

"But we're not lethal to everyone says the parasite"
My word it's absurd that we somewhat, slightly thin the herd and get accused of murder.
So you squash him and whisper to his corpse
we don't want you any further

But its eggs matured, bred and spread through cell division
So you're not cured, you're not even in remission
You're riddled with all it's systemic children
Each one an angry, violent, painful pilgrim
They say there may be to many hates to name today but it's still possible to kill them.
To pull them out if and when you find them.
And tell your friends where the parasite tends hide itself inside them.
In omissive history, in Imperial lies.
In your ego, in your national pride.
In the papers and the police
In the statues and names of streets
Follow your compass and you'll find
the needle points from time to time
To a hidden hate behind the love
To a parasite that you're proud of.