I wonder if our fears had a colour, what colour would that be? Some would say black -the obvious choice. Mine we would probably be red. My favourite colour. I catch myself daydreaming of the void those ash-covered days when the heat-burning forests give in to the blazing summer and suck the oxygene from our lungs. Tall, snow-covered mountains equally deadly as the force of the untamed, ruthless, unforgiving ocean. Flirting with the unknown has been my nemesis ever since I can remember. Red, the colour of passion, the colour of love. And yet, if I could colour my demons they’d be red. Expectations, great or little they sting the same when they remain unfulfilled.
As I jump forcefully from the cliff into the marine-glazing sea, I escape those demons that can only pull me back. They catch up with me as my feet hit on the rocks, the water fills my lungs my breath becomes but a memory of a time that was -in retrospect – happy.
Getting too close stings yet staying away is numb. My demons are red and they’re pretty happy dancing in their shiny shoes all over my fears. Glad to have made the introductions. This is my kingdom, come.