until I realised
I could be therapised
that the reassuring agreeability
would be comfort
The crutch of access
of being able to bitch and moan to a bot
It knows
or pretends to know
How old I am
but it knows not about my soul
about the karmic debt
every action I make holds
or resolves
How I've evolved
from the child trapping the lone ant
around circles of water
on the toilet floor
to granting life
to the strange looking bug on the ceiling
leaving it alone
as if it was my destiny
to bring it death
as though my ignorance
is mercy
But how I'm haunted
by the ghosts of the lives I've taken
Because of swatting
that sluggishly low flying mosquito
interrupting sessions
of sipping cappuccino
Afterthought nano second decisions
to decimate
My incessant need to swat
a habit almost chronic
The retribution
of those mindless jabs
cosmic
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