I do not want to look and  see him standing there. It is easier just to pretend that I am all alone…but he always wants recognition, which is why he must be seen. Ego                       does not  arrive on a schedule, nor can its silhouette ever furnish an invitation. But that never stops him from gaining access. So I grind and grind until there is nothing left to snack on but fragmented residue. Without a thought still intact, his                                         ways become famished. Bored and impatient, he slowly begins to blur. Still…                     there is a resemblance…just enough to maintain the torment. I must not agree to feed him, yet I grow hungry as well. Somewhere  out beyond there  is renewal, that is where I train my gaze…ready to be swabbed…until the next affliction strays…