Obsession is a lot like ink.
It drips into memories and stains thoughts and ideas with it's color.
It can't be washed away by distractions and wont let me go on with life.
Unless I play out the stories it desires.
It can't be controlled as the drips worsen and it splatters my mind like artwork.
Drop after drop after drop.
This obsession stains more and more of my mind and I'm angry now at its pleasure in my confusion.
I fight the urge to give in to the very next drop.
