So, without further adieu:
Sometimes, you don’t know it’s there at first. Sometimes, it
comes upon you all at once, bubbling, broiling, filling your chest cavity with
heat and passion and ferocity you didn’t know you possessed.
It takes root in your heart and it
spreads it’s stalk, then it’s leaves, then it’s buds, throughout your entire
body, and shoots it’s tendrils into your arms and legs.
It tangles itself throughout your ribcage,
curling and knotting around your bones.
It integrates itself deep into your
core. It becomes a part of you.
And you can sit there, quietly, not
even knowing the evil that’s growing inside you.
Anything can set it off, really.
Once you start caring for it, nurturing it, letting it grow, the buds deepen in
color and prepare themselves to bloom.
And then something they say tips
the scale. One callous word can cause it to flower.
There is nothing comparable. When
it flowers, it’s bloody red petals open up, and the pollen once trapped inside
bursts into your veins. Carried throughout your entire body; your infected
heart pumping it up into your brain.
It’s like a disease. The incurable,
dastardly, all-consuming rage, a virus zooming through your body and ultimately
exiting… though your mouth. Through your fists.
You can’t stop it. I can’t; I’ve
tried.
Because it’s inside of every one of
us, lying dormant until it is provoked. It can bloom, for a while. After it has
run it’s course we prune it, water it, coddle it, until it has need to bloom
again.
We don’t even realize just how much
we care for it until the seasons change, and it explodes into it’s deep,
caustic, malicious hues of scarlet and maroon.
The only way to eradicate it is to
pull it out by the roots.
But that might kill us, you see. It
is rooted in our hearts.
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