Black Smoke and Bloody Walls

Memories are parasites
festering upon my mind,
gradually your smoke rings
turn tar black, oily they
seem to drip to the floor,
but I do not want to gaze
into those depths any more,
I feel your fingers stretching out,
wanting to reach inside of me,
and pull out tendrils of my soul.

The walls begin to weep blood,
like watching myself bleed
all those years ago when you left me
upon my knees and I believed
you were a god, all those years
I squandered in the dark when your false light
was lost, I can still hear your voice,
filling me with hate and fear.

I gnawed upon the bones,
and cut myself open,
I believed I could dig you out
where I knew you had lodged deep inside,
but treacherously I realized I was only
destroying myself, and I knew
amid the blood soaked walls,
and the tartar stained ceiling,
you were laughing.

Your laughter was as oily
as your plague black smoke
that, tapeworm like had wound
itself around inside of me,
there is nothing left
but try and regurgitate it out,
hoping by now, I do not extract
everything that is left of me still inside.