Ego

Is it a furnace of coal? Is it a bottomless well? Is it the night of my soul? Is it as unsafe as hell? Is it might in its fullness? From it, couldn't I return? Is it death in absurdness? Here, would I endlessly burn? Do days, in it, look like nights? Is it a whirlpooling sea? Grief here, they say, like snakes, bites. Is it a death trap in me? It is my psyche's dark nook. It's a poison-flowing brook.