The moody virus

Poetry

I hit real hard but I’m locked out of this guy and literally barred.
Guess I’ve pulled the mystery card.
Damn human, he barely swoons.
Somehow he’s resisting and scarily immune.
This I ask why as I’m forced to diversify.
But get nowhere facing wall after wall.
Might as well learn to fly. 
But then I become stuck for words, tongue-tied as my circuits fry.
I attack back but it’s a stalemate.
Me versus guy.
And right now, as he sings to me his verses lie.
I curse and sigh, he’s less sad sack more stone-cold samurai.
Time to step back from my game plan, be bold and analyse.
Find a chink in his armour or this whole day will be a disaster.
This cheeky, healthy freak, why won’t he just die a bit faster?
He’s basically a perfect specimen, clearly one of God’s special men.
This I want to shout from the rafters.
But it’s a lame song.
This guy will never die.
He’s got more charisma than James Bond.
From the swagger of Connery to Craig’s blonde, he’s way gone.
At least, up to the point that you think he’s died.
And so for my sins I must coax him in.
Like it’s a wedding day and he’s a nervous bride.
I mean, what way can I infect his worthless hide?
As a virus I’m not invincible.
And right now I’m feeling miserable and must swallow my pride.
Damn this man, he’s a thorn in my side.
I want to straight up brand him with my disease till he chokes on his lies.
Where’s his weakness?
I’ll find a way in, he’d best believe this.
Big deal he can fight off lesser known diseases.
There’s more to me I’m a different breed.
Focused and upbeat and no complete defeatist.
A religious jihadist with this game, no cheated extremist.
For him and me? We’ve got bad blood.
And I plan to attack in a mad rush, latching onto his Hemoglobin.
This man’s not special and needs to know that he’s not chosen.
So I advance on his defences and gently goad him.
His reflexes falter becoming frozen.
Weak cells face all kinds of hell, his body smoking.
Like vampire scum in the sun, close to exploding.
What’s the best way to throw him?
Days numbered on Death’s clock you see. 
Is this some kind of democracy where his fate rests on voting?
This I ponder with a sense of foreboding.
But right now I’m calling his tab.
Last round and all that and time on this guy is now close to closing. 

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