It

It lingers in my room,
It dimmers all that blooms.
It likes to play a game,
with chains which wield much blame.
It pushes you around,
It wants to make you drown.
You scream and tell it no,
But at last it will not go.

It will only settle down,
When it has broke your crown,
The chair on which you sit,
Is what it will split.
Watching you come down,
Will quickly change it's frown.

For what it seeks is to kill,
All the good and make it ill.