it

it rushes through my soul,
feral, maddening,
beating, throbbing
like the drums of the night.

it grips my being, holding tight,
controlling, directing,
forcing, crushing
me into quiet submission.

it breathes on me with the
dark, bitter mist of eternal depravity.
with its breath in my lungs, I must
survive as it holds me under a sea of chaos.

it i cannot love.
it i cannot hate.
it i cannot stand.
it is my own volition.