The underbelly of my ego;
limpid, wrinkled carpet
of scars, petty thoughts,
and fearful self-machination.

Cold as a mottled monologue;
Selfish and maudlin
as a sneaky sot,
stealing affection from strangers.

It lurks in the alley of mind;
sinuous and grim
with cynical ire,
waiting to devour my dreams.

Approaching Creativity;
sweet progenitor of
color, light, and lift,
it pounces with dull, fiery claw.

Dripping venom and phantasm;
slayer of fairy tales
barely enwombed,
heartless Avatar of failure.

This then is my secret battle;
to slay and triumph
and win clear the way,
so the children of my light survive.