The Blackness Within
The blackness crawls within my skin:
I feel it, sliding in my veins, pulsing.
I know it- it is a part of me, not unlike the love in my heart.
But it is not love: it is the opposite of love.
I know it- the darkness in my mind, ever-present;
The hatred that I can hide, but never avoid.
The anger that sleeps within my being,
Waiting only for a release, for a lapse
Of my watchfulness.
It waits within me, patient,
Cold and cunning, knowing.
It knows the release will happen,
And I know that when it does, it will be too late.
I will fall away, into anger and hatred,
And never return. (There is no return from that darkness.)
I fight it, constantly, for I know the destruction that I hide in me.
I know that if I release it, I will fall, but others will be destroyed,
So great is that anger,
So powerful that hatred.
I do not know its origin,
But that is not important-
All that is important is its existence.
I cannot destroy my anger,
I can only hide it.
This I do, constantly.
I live in fear of the blackness within me.
I live, holding at bay my darkest emotion,
Willing it to disappear.
Yet it remains.