The blackness;
Thick and oppressive,
Cold and void of all that is pure and clean.

Like a horrid gaping maw
hungry and ready to devour  
Even the dimmest of light
Shining within us.

Sinister and malevolent
As it washes over and slowly swallows the light
That illuminates all that is righteous and true.

Poisonous and vile,  
Permeating and festering
As if born in the bowels of evil itself,  
Hollow cries of abhorrence and loathing
Echo lost within the ebony abyss.

Dark madness
Oozing and *******
Even the slightest of openings made available
By the tiniest breaks in ones emotional defenses,
And infecting all it touches like the plague.

Like a sordid petulant Fein
Stalking its victim,
Ready to pounce at any sign of weakness
And taking control of our sense of reason and sanity,

Feeding off our own insecurities and doubts,  
And turning us into emotional slaves
To the dark force called jealousy.

Born with pen in one hand
and idea in other,
I cried,
not tears but echoes of punctuation.
I screamed,
for paper yearning to share visions
in-between sleep.
I smiled,
seeing colorful spirits
urging me to be patient.

But when I laughed,
the world gathered
and conversations began
acting like building blocks for poetic words.

At young age
I molded phases in mind
like tasty lollipops,
as stick-like pen was my friend
and ideas clung to mobile.

By age four fate was sealed
while pen expanded,
and ideas sprouted like flowers of poetry.

Poems,
I share as a prodigy
creating smiles to celebrate life in verse.

Beautiful yet fragile
All you do
Is fly

Like everything that
Lives
To die

Just so you know
It's a lie

When they say
Everyone likes you

When you fly around
Some they runaway

It's not true that
Everyone loves you

Its not your beauty that counts
It's what you do

It sat in the viscera that winter
It all did
The unfed energy of madness
The unbridled
Recklessness
Foaming at the mouth
Virulent
Bordered and contained
The ****** footprints
Of choice
Deranged rationalisations
Virulent
Bordered, not contained
Seeping through the fissures of sanity
Tipping at the very edge of reason
Where once blousy hydrangea bloomed
Cradling the night
The gothic hands of time
Stood frozen.