We all have them, buried in the dirt of our past. Dank, slimy little things that lie low in the shadows, pretending to be bound by our determination until they spot a moment of weakness and rush forth to gnaw at the souls they belong to.

We know it will happen, it’s only a matter of time — but we choose to hold on, to dig them in a little deeper. Maybe it’s personal gain, perhaps because the truth is just too hard to face or maybe even because we are naive enough to think that creating them was the right thing to do.

It doesn’t really matter how they are created – you’ll never see a lie with soft fuzzy wool and baby doe eyes. No. No matter the sweetness in which they were born, once they grow they become nothing but teeth and claws and fangs – giving birth to more of their dark twisted kind.

–B