I wrote this piece a couple years ago. Still one of my favourites:

You can’t see it.
What’s beneath the skin.
The black.

It’s what I love.
What I fear.

Many paths have I traveled.
Shrouded in sickness.
The mysterious.
The frightening.
The woeful.

I keep these hidden.
A dear part of me.
Although some paths surface.
They heal with time.
And leave a forest of scars.
Some hold special meaning.
While others blend with the rest.

The black sometimes calls.
Calls for an ending.
To my story on Earth.
It’s a familiar voice.
It calms me sometimes.
Yet can cause great distress.
A spider’s web of emotions.
And I don’t know.
If I am spinning the web.
Or getting stuck in it.

I don’t know how I would feel.
If you took the black away.
Would I lose a dear friend?
Or cast a demon away?
Maybe I’d be lost.
Or else I might be freed.

But the black is with me.
And we coexist.
Somewhat peacefully.