I often retreat into a cave, not much different from a make-shift grave. Time is of no importance but I keep up with kindred souls with a shallow mark upon the crumbling walls. These friends are fireflies, some always in flight and energy shining bright. Others, they land and dim with empathetic plight. I watch but am careful not to touch as I know the damage that can be dealt even in my murmured caresses.
My heart bears the trace of each kiss upon my dark disgrace. I swoon. I obsess with salivating addiction. I conjure demise in skittish dreams. I cry internal rivers that flood the withered plains that are a monument to all past pain. I run, chasing dandelion wishes into this ravine that fortifies my false defenses. And I hide, for their good as much as mine.
So, here I sit in liquid darkness. My fireflies and me, lightning in obsidian reverie.
**I was inspired to write this after reading The Well by my friend, Johnny Ojanpera.**