It Festers, Feeds, and Grips

It festers in the far reaches of my mind  
A singular thought so foreign I cannot say that it is mine  
I push it away as if a small bug constantly buzzing  
I will not  
I cannot  
There is no way  
 
It feeds off of hate. Hate, frustration, and desire  
A singular feeling of despair I cannot shake  
I contemplate the idea before realizing my weakness  
I don’t think I will  
What would I say  
No, I will not  
 
It grips me in the middle of the night  
A singular desperation I cannot control  
I hold on wishing for it to let go 
I won't  
I know I won't  
What if I did