Alien On My Head

The alien that sits on top my head today
Is cold and rude (but warm against my scalp),
With metal tentacles that rip and tear their way
Through anything if I should call for help.
It’s just so icky, sticky, green inside,
And they don’t care if I’m not qualified.

The alien is growing in my brain,
But teacher says I must be just deranged,
I’m lucky, and I really can’t complain.
“Come on, be just like us!” they say, “And change!”
“Grow up!” they shout, “into an alien!”
It’s all gone weird; I thought they were my friends.
This violent lithography must end.

My friends have come apart, abducted by
Necessity, not human anymore.
“No! No! You can’t just quit!” they scream at me.
They’ve got the back hole genes, so what’s it for?
These hybrid children plan to change the world,
And I can’t fight. Their plan will be unfurled.