There are times when you shouldn't write.
Times when the words come too easily, and too hurtfully. Times when they swarm out, and start attacking you with little nips, some sharper than others. Times when they huddle together to scheme openly, laughing as you try to muscle into the circle, and then form up into questions that you knew they would ask. Questions that you know that you should have asked, and find astonishing that you didn't. But deep-down, you also know why you didn't; know that the answers would tear open a world you rather have wished away. And so you turn the page, and shut the book, and wait till they wither away, all the while clenching yourself from trying to go help them and stop the noise, the clamour, the insidious promises and threats; just holding on till it all dies away.....and then holding on some more to make truly sure, make sure they're well and truly extinguished of any power, because you know better than to fall for that trick again.

There are times when you shouldn't think.
Times when when it's a mistake to think, when a fleeting trigger sets off a chase to recover that which you had long left tucked away, hidden in some imagined attic of the place you house your memories in. And when you naively pull out the dusty scene, and bring it into the light, you realise with growing alarm what it's really showing, and just how cleverly you have been lying to yourself. And as you look around and notice the hundreds of other times that lie hidden away, suppressed away, you begin to cry for all the betrayals that you've wrought with yourself. And before you begin to scream, screams which you know won't stop till you break completely, you throw what you hold away, and run away from there. And then you breathe, and pretend the calm of your memories was never disturbed by the imprint of questions that required answers that were too dark to let you carry on in ease, once you were touched and forced to look them in the mouth. And you choose your smile, and slip back into the dance, and forget that you ever came close to wondering why you never considered so many things.

There are times when you shouldn't feel.
Times when you cannot run anymore, and are caught up with and held down and pinned back and made to face it all. And you will struggle and writhe and scream for mercy, but they will crawl all over you and slip into you, passing into you through your skin, infecting you till you cannot think of anything but them, cannot think of anything but what they want you to, as they rampage around opening up and wringing all that is, in essence, you...till you cannot but look at yourself, cannot refuse to and recognise yourself and admit for once that, yes, yes, this is who I really am. And that's when the horror truly begins.

There are times when you shouldn't ... be.



PS. Will this style (Scout-meets-Falsie) do as an Urf? If not, somebody's got to suggest one. Space Bar promised, and is still pondering away and getting distracted by flowers.