A Slave of Freedom

I can feel it, like an itch that must be scratched. Deep inside, buried in the corners of my soul where such darkness abides, one can scoop it from around oneself. Where the air is solid and light forgotten; there it lies in wait. With subtle movements, always reminding me of its presence. How furiously i tried to destroy it. A darkness to be touched; a hatred burning bright; a power beyond control. I used to give myself into the feelings surrounding it, like a black aura of ironic freedom. To be free of it, i must be its slave; only as a slave can i be free. But the evil was too great; its wicked power beyond containment and so i buried it. Deep within the foundations of my rocky core, it slumbers; a dormant volcano, never to rise again. But the violent tremors of my breaking heart have revived the wickedness inside. Calling to me, with whispers in my ears, it beckons to me once again. I feel an earthquake within my inner most being; my soul is split apart and it rises to the surface. Scratching never felt so good nor freedom taste so sweet.