The icy air kissed my lungs with winter’s awful breath. I never know who I am in this season. Tumultuous turmoil at everyone’s expense. By my own hands. I say I try. It’s true. I do. There is something ravenous within me. I am desperate for warmth in all its forms. Indecisive. I can’t even bring myself to choose a single ice cream flavour. I want it all. Je suis affamé. It’s a theatrical performance. Acting wildly. A blatant disregard. As if I have never been granted a good thing in my life. Pungent disrespect. Utter contempt. Wilful blind disillusion. My psyche is a confounding paradox. A curse. Why does it burden me? It won’t let me win. I can’t let it be. Let enough be enough. Confusing safety for stagnation. I am a puddle yearning to be a river. Flowing incessantly. Towards my newest prey. Maybe I’ll drown myself with it.

Jojo