nothing

You hear it offhand, 

A whispered word floating to your ears,

It’s a falsity, preposterous, a rumor,

Of course it’s not true,

But even still,

It wriggles its way into your head,

a worm, a maggot, a brain eating parasite.

You push it away, but it lingers,

Always there, unseen, unheard,

simmering just below the surface, waiting for a spark.

Time is the kindle to your unlit fire,

Time allows a monster to make its home,

It’s the gathering of dust,

the rusting of something once clean,

the cracks that form, going unnoticed,

Until it breaks, shatters,

from seemingly nothing at all.

So sure you knew what they were all along,

so busy looking for things you knew were there,

You are confident in your knowledge,

Because of course you can do no wrong.