Rose up from it's grave again today,
burning with hunger and greed, overflowing with pure rage.
Could bury the bastard in a fabricated sigh and a wide grin,
but I know the fucker: he'd break through again.

To bite my tounge is to bite my tail, it seems:
swallow the bitter till I'm swallowing the swallowing.
Would the last bite pacify this beast
on the other side of me?

I'm no match for him,
but I have to be.

I'm no match for him, but
we're the match for Me.

Divine darkness, am I any match for thee?
In retort, would you escape the grip of my teeth
and devour me in an even more extreme form
of this blasted bitterness, this negativity?

Loose dirt shoveled into that hole again today
I sigh and grin, a call for rain to add a little weight,
knowing well-worn paths show only a matter of minute time
till he rises up again, and my will is no longer mine.