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All anyone truly has are their thoughts, and these are mine. I find it harder every day to believe in coincidence, so if you've found these writings, I encourage you to read on. Experience is a two-way street, and I'd appreciate hearing about yours. Love.

Thursday, 10 March 2011

Dark Puddle

A body of black liquid lies in my thoughts with danger signs lining it's borders. 

A pool considerably small in relation to the expanse of sky, snaking rivers, and exotic rain forests vining together my emotional and callback memory. However, this puddle is cognitively avoided like death. The Imp of the Perverse mockingly dances around it's edge, flicking matches dangerously close, all the while cackling as I flinch. The Imp knows what happens when it catches, and myself, more so.

At times of vulnerability (usually upon my decision to sleep), he bows his head and looks at me over his nose, both his dark cheeks cornering to show a mischievous smile. He leans back for distance, and hurls a torch into the air. His eyes grow in multi-colored intensity as the flame spins towards the oily center.

The body outwardly erupts in waves of fiery embarrassment and melting regret. Each wave creating more sets, until every heart wrenching, sweat inducing experience has been lived again. The puddle settles... upon which the imp howls at my distress. 

We all have a dark puddle

... and I just felt an earthquake.

Hopefully the imp fell in, the little prick.