There were the demons, and there were four of them
the pale whites, entrapping, circling
and did I face them, each of them
with a gunless stare, a stand-off in the void
Yet there was more, the all-consuming
the unquenchable source of words
the all-consuming comparison of times and beings
and reason for my counsel with the walls
There it was, the all-consuming black
and stuffed my neck with foam
and never am I more free to roam the mind
as at times my surroundings turn to stone
There they were, the all-consuming ruins
before a great pile of the finest bricks
and I, knee-deep in dust
scraping mortar out from under the debris
I knew the all-consuming, and I did know its trade
its beginning and its end
my scrawny foe, the one I held up high
and with her in my grasp, blacking out my sun