In the darkness of the hollow, In the wistful of the day, Comes a gnashing of the Daemon And the trouncing of the Bay. Leaves a mark upon the features; Plants a hook into the soul. Wants for loathing or self-hatred - Wants for wrecking of the lull. Choose the sinews of the monster - Horse of death, devoid of light. If you mount its mangy hackles It will drag you into night. Little solitude can linger At a time depression fraught. Either gallops gloom of gloaming Or a crafty concept caught. Makes for drowsy or for writing. Curl it in or fight it out: Tender tears to taint and tarnish, Fiendish fierceness flail and flout. Choose the dark and dangerous Daemon - Vapor’s Muse of shadow’s glare. Touch its fissured flesh of genius, Share its mind, but have a care. Whirling skirmish with a dark muse. Wrestling pen, now paper stained. Bleeds a vicious prose or poem; Heals the heart and mind, once pained.