Born, Struggling, Reborn

This dark companion,
Mutiny of this mental bounty,
Treasured escort, expensive though she may be,
A strange and vile whore whose demands, unruly
Sends the mind in a million directions,
Depression casting shadows,
Silhouettes lounging in manic Bipolar representations,
My mind, my minds,
Thoughts firing from dirty synapses,
Caked with self doubt and loathing,
Requiring an intentioned look,
Deep within a self,
That has split in three,
Each shattered part,
A necessary construct for the whole,
One that cannot know,
One that I strive to know,
One that undresses me daily,
The incitements of self-deprecation,
Far beyond anything that could consciously be believed.
This brooding bitch,
My Black Dog,
Shared with people the world over,
Proverbial Moriarty to my Sherlock,
Yet a necessary antecedent,
To unlock the chains,
My chains,
Those make ankles raw,
I seek the personal transformation,
Cocooning no longer,
Instead, fluttering these synapses wings,
That this beautiful monarch,
May finally reveal,
To its own self,
My own self,
What is unconditionally true,
Taking flight,
Hoping to restore,
Me to me,
I and I and I,
This dark companion
Stretching this I,
The dominant I,
To reaches that prove manifestly wrought,
With sleepless nights,
Listless days,
Countless cups of black coffee,
Nicotine stained fingers,
Rings of blue smoke swirling into the great unknown,
Where these words that must find their way,
Find my way,
The I way.
This brooding mental construct,
With the destructive force,
Of Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
So too is a tormented endeavor,
Honouring the bright light within,
That seeks to shine,
That seeks to inspire,
That seeks to aspire,
Shall the creative force,
Do battle and away with,
This darkened companion,
My Black Dog,
Or must it stay,
That I may continue along the Muses path,
Claiming rightfully and without conceit,
The calling realized,
The day I was born;
Warrior Poet.


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