One of my three sonnets of the weird

He shares the crowded house that is my skull
The only guest who does not dissipate
The others fade as if a daydreamed trull
But he sojourns and always watching, waits

He nods and smiles when I lash out at you
With pleasure he rewards my worst instincts
He dizzies truth so falsehood seems more true
He covers up dark sources of the links

Not guest and not a stranger now is he
I’ve known him always and a fading night
From trauma nurtured I, my enmity
Laughed bitterly when hope grayed from my sight

Then one hot night I breathe my final rasp
I see him use the doorway of my gasp