A Good Struggle

As I ex-cogitate yonder of the horizon, my son, a chilly sphere, appears

To reveal and steal the darkness away with all the fears

Of a frightened foe crammed with woe and this canine curse —

Disperse and tie me up chained, refrain with disdain! —

Disdain at my shadow because it erupts and becomes what I don’t need to become —

Something wicked and worse, my son.

First, the fangs will fly as I slowly die into this demon dog,

Growing from the within just like the hot breath, a venomous fog

Welling up from the guttural depths of a tea kettle production

Over a fireplace of fierce modification, accruing a battle of wills bestowing

That old struggle of who I'm and fighting off the pain

As I grow this thick, coarse mane, a present from the devil’s den.

Muscles ripple, sinewy, tight, taut, like the undead tree trunks of Hell,

Exploding gristle and blood vessels exploding as the spell

Spills its poison into each material of my being, seeing is a basic cognitive process

The bitter transfiguration of this information decoding me,

Rewriting me, redaction me, reconstruction me, remodeling me, refitting me

Into one thing that's obscurity close to any sense of mediocrity.

I feel my eyes unfold and morph, twisting into a tale, and that I see my tail,

A revelation, vision with the exactness of a predator as this devilish editor

Inside of me continues to interrupt everything that's human apart,

That stark distinction of the hideous ochre solid with slits

Revealing the depths of Hades and also the voracious pits of rage

As I'm latched away during this cold, lonely and callous cage.

I AM no more. I’m one thing additional or less a Lycan licking and gnashing

At prey that prays for my soul, shaking, crying and flaming

Inside another dark cage, one you can't see anyplace within the mud —

Which is why you have got to kill that sphere within the pitch sky….

And this beast I'm breaks the chains and everyone goes awry

As I hunt endlessly within the night for your living blood.