A tale of caution for the broken of mind.

The brain is a confusing thing.

In one instance, there are clear set lines, sequence, and little to nothing process. Neural pathways that intercross, a slow zipping back and forth. A zip zap zip, dancing on the tightrope.

Sparks

f-

-all-

-ing.

And it hits a small hidden box, with a latch broken, placed so surely, so secretively in a small bush, precariously placed so close to the lines, just unnoticed and unseen. Rusty and worn out, handles that have seen to many days of being pried open. Sloppily written words of ‘caution’ scribbled over the front. Used and-

Inside-

Wires. Blue, red, green, black. An assortment of colours, crisscrossing, back and forth. Jumbled up, into a messy ball. Messy, worn, and frayed.

Tangled wires with exposed nerves.

Caution.

With sparks cascading down from the lines above, near hits of the worn out door, near misses to the exposed wire.

Until one day- something snaps, and the sparks fall at the right place, wrong time-

A mishap? An accident? Fate?

Or maybe just the probable time and place for it to happen.

And this time, sparks multiply, zipping in and out the tangled web, from -things forgotten, dusted, ignored:

Memories, broken and painful.

Thoughts, dark and sinister.

Shame, unforgiving and ever-present.

CAUTION

The mind is a confusing thing, especially one so broken and warped as mine.