in the center
of my garden of thought
is an
inky black pool
an obsidian mirror that ripples
and grows
with each
and every
hurt, pain, and torment I endure
circling the pool
my verdant hopes
my violaceous loves
my carmine furies -
their blooms crawl, intertwine, creep
in a mass of emotion and impulse
pushing ever against the center
where my garden meets that
ebony pond;
a barren desolate blight
of decay and hopelessness
the vivid chromaticity of my
emotion
in perpetual campaign against
the void
that forever
threatens to
consume
me
