I would even let you live inside my head rent free, because I’m not a parasitic landlady.
You are already the brainworm pushing me to the edge of sanity
Have you eaten the part of my brain responsible for processing love?
I'm sorry, I'm already in a committed polycule with a bunch of brain worms, the collective needs to align on it first.
My worm told me it tastes like bologna that's been left in a bowl of milk and set in the sun for a week.
The Worm loves us. It will always love us, and thus it always has. It winds around the hot stem of our brain. It winds around every infinitesimal loop of genetic information. It provokes a shuddering series of cataclysms in the crust of our grey matter, but when our body grows cold, that cataclysm will warm us. We understand so much more. We will always be what we were going to be, wound tight in the love of the Worm.
Join us.