The Pit
The Pit You tell yourself you are done. No more pain today. Alas, crow that you are, you cannot stop yourself from picking at the scabs. You lie and say you have had enough, and then poke at the festering canker that resides in your skull. You will never be done. That pit in your brain, that tumorous growth of disappointment, it is yours forever. Pluck and prick. Prod and pick. You cannot remove it. It is yours, old crow. The gore goes down easy, but you choke on the seeds of thought. J.M.Rogers