Host.

The wind creeps in, momentarily,

warning me, with sharp severity,

to fill the gaps

and trace the curves,

to impale the dots, which ignite my nerves.

How unbidden,

how deceitful of my mind,

how cruel it is

to tell a child, once green and unresigned

that this is who they are

and will forever be,

a broken, neurotic, gap filling

host, with no autonomy.