Anathemas and shadows and veins coursing lead
He’s looming and lurking and nigh-inspiring dread
Duplicitous and suspicious, I wish that he were dead
He’s like some matured fictional monster come from under my bed
Mondays find me restless and these days ask for peace
Wednesdays leave me torn while next days find my knees
And Saturdays ramblings to God and His returned calls to me
Despite my incapacity of articulating barring eloquence of speech
Mirrors are mere reflections while perspective is above par
I am my only devil, I am my only scar.
Cast him down in the hole and cover him in tar
Still wherever I go, there also is my bête noire.
*bête noire is referring to one that is particularly disliked or that is to be avoided.