The prose of Christa (From the fingers of a friend)

               Haunting,
                 digging deep
into the center of my gravity,
        through my thoughts they
           taunt me,
spreading from the tip of my tounge
   down my throat,
 they infect
every inch of imagination
  lingering pleasant after tastes
they harass, punching deep into
   matriculating
                      lines
the typed prose abusive words strung together,
           drugging me.
the only kind of abuse I like.