The Wait Is Long, But Not Too Long

There is a little part of me

That would bleed oil

Black with hate

If any were left to bleed

My skin is riven

With the wounds of unchecked parasites

I birthed them

I do not know what moved me to create

It is perhaps better this way

A circle circumscribes all things

This brood of twisted ovum

Understand this in everything but themselves

When they have gone in their time

Leaving everything grey with ash

I will remain

Long after

The Earth will endure a long wait,

But a weight no longer.