I would be better to kill two words.
Eradicate them. Rip them from my soul.
Flush them from my mind.
But they are a retro-viral-idea encoded into thought.
Infected me. Altered me.
To think expresses them, as they underpin thought.
The clockwork of a watch, hidden from view by a fixed face and swirling hands.
What keeps time, and mocks the passing of the hour.
More the watch than a shiny case and face.
An invisible worm that has found it's bed of crimson joy.
They define me, sustain me, lift me when I fall.