It had to be burnt, sliced and wrapped. There was nothing wrong with it, but it was a risk. The infection was spreading and–it felt good. It was warm, caused the heart to beat to a new rhythm. The entry way, that innocent opening–vulnerable and true–had to be cut to be closed. It was too natural to live in this world of the dying, the parasite, the marked.
The guest had found a resting place in the host, welcoming, catering, and unyielding in accommodation. What began as symbiotic–security and fruits of affection for one, reception & authentication for other–quickly became parasitical, a hostile takeover. In these cases either the host dies, or the parasite is expelled, eliminated or excommunicated. Expulsion was the choice, but its presence is missed, yet never far. A reminder of what could have been, before the guest became a parasite, foreshadowing a cancer, necessitating the death of the host or the re-orienting of the guest. Parasites are immune to reformation, and a house is not a home, where mutuality does not exist.
The wound was cauterized. The guest-parasite, was expelled. The host is in recovery and the house is under renovation. Mind your guests, lest they mine your essence.