It slithered black, purple and cold,
Against my soul.
So cold it burned as acid etches stone.
What horrors fill my soul?
Changing shape to fill any void.
Spiders, oil, squid, and smoke.
Coming to cloud my soul.
Try as I might I can't **** this thing.
It darkens my door to settle score,
Of some deep fear.
I burned it last night,
But it slithered back to the recesses of my mind.
It's made a home and I wonder if it will always be so.