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It is like a rat. A rat that scurries around. A rat that is on amphetamines. It scurries to and fro. All the while it scratches. Scratches hard and deep, with wrenched claws made out of poison and vile. Trying to find a way out or a way in. I know not which. Nobody can really know this. They know only that they want it out. The thought to reach up and in, comes to us. Open the lid and draw it forth. Bring it out into the daylight. Drag it forth kicking and screeching. But this will not accomplish what we want. It would only die and be replaced by yet another one. The next one more forceful and agitated than the last. This leaves us with only one option. We must give in. Give it what it desires. Give it what it requires. By doing so we release the rat from it’s cage.

So we write, and as we do the rat finds it’s way through the maze and eventually, out of the cage of our mind. We do so willingly. We do so knowing that it will be replaced by another. But for awhile… while we write the words, the scratching stops. We are at ease…until the next idea comes to mind.

© 2011- J.B. Thomas

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