Toxic fumes are coming out of the soft, moss-covered grounds like ghosts, visual manifestations of all the memories I Buried and Sacrificed here. The Green is slowly turning into a dull shade of dirty yellow. The caterpillar I befriended a while back is moving slowly on my finger towards my nail. Its thick skin, equally dull and dirty yellow, barely holds the parasitic larvae inside. I see them twirling. So fidgety and tight in the skin of their host, they seem anxious to burst out of this confinement, into a world slowly dying. The sickening metaphor doesn’t escape me. Consumed from the inside, accelerated rot, eating away sufficiency. I’m part of this parasitic root.
The body as a container, but possessed, inevitable to contain what was forced within. Unwelcome minuscule eggs, little intruders.”
They will grow, killing the root, and find another container to attach themselves onto, hide into. Attach to a vascular system, wrap and twist around it. Haustorial roots suck the life source, penetrating codes and locks. Swollen tissue on the energy contact points.