Threadsecutioner

A few vague words by someone, a topic chosen and a few banners raised in response.
I jump in, first dissecting then engorging.
A surgeon to the topic then a feating vulture which repulses others away.
Lots of words and letters to make a sandstorm of dust.
Ashes and ashes,
dust and dust,
barren of responses,
blunt and warped dialogue left to rust.
- Looks like everyone has left.
All threads die sometime.
And sometimes it seems I am the reaper that makes them die.
My words a final scythe.
Still, some service with a smile and grin.