Seeks (De)cade'h'ence

Deblack

I, your blackish blackened conscience,
The voice of one crying in the
Wilderness of your melanin
Reeked image. Not forerunner and
Pathfinder of the immortal
Mortal divinity divine.

I, master of your very fate,
The lord of the apocalypse.
When your mind turned bloodies and darks,
Remember me for I’m your mate
To accompany you, as your lips
Pay homage while your image sinks.

I, lord and ruler of your hell,
One which by no one hands created,
Made of you, by you and for you.
Feed me with your fears to grow well
Then you’ll never be liberated;
My grip leaves only at your cue.

I, the nemesis of your yet 
Generations unborn but born,
Burned by benefits bored before
Burden: a mentality set
By inheritance to those sworn
To be your descendants; blood core.

I, your… what am I? Just feed me!