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