It oozed from my nails like blood
But darker, no pain, it fell upon the floor
It was warm around my toes
"It was like a puddle walked after a storm"
But then then
Lacerations,
Irritation,
Convulsions
As what once bleed from my nails
Now pierced my flesh,
My body trembled,
As I hit the floor,
"Shaking uncontrollably"
It crept under my skin
Burning upon every nerve, but then
Pierced,
Cracked,
Perforated  
From under the skin,
I touched the first,
"I screamed in plentiful agony"
As if a raw Nerve had been openly touched,
It was like poison ivy, my skin
Discoloured veins of
Red,
Blue,
Black
Slowly crept over the open wounds,
It had moved to my trunk,
"***** of black spewed forth"
As it entwined,
Like clawed fingers
Lacerating my internal organs,
I moved back,
"Crawled upon the floor"
The now solid nerves
Scrapped, scratching the wooden boards,
It was a  futile act, as if I could escape
That which was under my skin,
My arms were perforated
Upon my throat, veins crept
As it knew that if
Pierced,
Bleed,
Breath
No more would be had,
But each was as if embers of flame
Inhaled, exhaled with each painful breath,
It crawled underneath flesh, agony
Not letting me go,
I was conscious
"Even though I preyed to pass out"
It clawed
Slowly,
Intentionally,
At each eye, like a thousand paper cuts
My eyes cried tears of black,
As I was shown the darkness within
That which had taken form externally, I was
Corrupted,
Polluted,
Distorted
Darkness that had crept beneath my skin,
And with that I exhaled,
"Black feathers spewed forth"
Cutting at my throat
As I ejected the darkness
These black feathers not hitting the floor
Instead just floating around,
"As I expelled once more"
Till one feather of white exited
With each touch
Black became white,
Ever brighter the room became,
Like a blanket covering I slept
"I awoke"
"Under white sheets"
"Was this but a dream, a  nightmare"
"I coughed and exhaled"
"A tiny black feather exited"
Then I knew that darkness is always inside,
But it can grow upon the soul,
Cutting into the white,
Like a vine corrupting upon the flesh
Good,
Light,
&
Bad
Darkness,
Are things of life
But we must never let the
Darkness blot out the light and take control of our life.

A battle rife with turns and twists
The soldier's shout is but a sigh
Petrified yet throwing fists
Silence, the dark passenger and I

Misery, His faithful ally
Mercy, a stranger to His hold
But lion fears not the foe's eye
For I am severed if I fold

And though the war is here to stay
I am to turn it in my favor
Sink my teeth into the sorry prey
Permanent victory's sweet flavor

So when the mighty streamline has stopped flowing
When all my trouble is far gone
I will smile, just to myself, knowing
I lived. I fought. I won.

strange enough,
that word choice,
******,
for they are all,
(or mostly)
men

they get on
their knees,
so eager to please

write a poem,
newbie,
they will be your
partner pretenders,
instant followers

but
the trick employed
is transference

they want you bad
to worship them,
that being the purest
of their false intentions,
their oldest trick,
guilt,
"if I follow you,
you should follow me!"

their kiss

Pass

laden with std's,
they want implanted
in your
hp inbox

The std is vanity.
what they need,
what they want you to imbibe,
is their world view,
poetry-is-by-the-numbers

the number of followers,
(how I detest that word)
the number of reads,
oft manipulated,
by cyber techno b.s.

so understand,
this craft,
you may have chosen,
is work, so hard,
because it comes from the gut,
wrenching pressing issues
inside you

it is about everything you want
us
to understand about you,
your vision peculiar,
without revealing your rawest self
so obviously

know this in advance

each poem has a unique audience,
as unique as you

years took me,
took me to grasp
this simply complex notion,
over come myself within myself,
that self-same infection

that audience is you

write to please yourself,
be your harshest critic,
popularity
will find you

your truths,
withour pandering,
will finds the seekers,
the quality lovers,
the truth
hungerers

they will find you,
of that,
be assured

amidst the millions of words,
yours are yours,
fear not the plaintive worry,
are they any good?

for the courage to post
yourself,
is the very
self same answer to that,
the bells toll
for thee


if it pleased you,
pained you,
enough that you released into this world,
in poem form,
it is good enough

poetry is ego

no question,
but keep yourself
on the right side of the line,
separating your ego from
the egotist,
and your poetry
will no question,
forever live,
a mark of you
upon the world

let us be brothers,
let us be sisters,
David and Jonathan,
Ruth and Naomi,

but not
Cain and Abel,
no anger, no jealousy,
just raw,
refined,
truth,
the truth
of you,
which cannot be
diminished by enumeration,
cannot be counted,
only blessed

Addiction is an impetus
and once gratified,
it is nearly insatiable  
to appease.
Despite its starvation,
the hunger will endure.