in the center
of my garden of thought
is an
     inky black pool
an obsidian mirror that ripples
     and grows
with each 
          and every
hurt, pain, and torment I endure
circling the pool
     my verdant hopes
     my violaceous loves
     my carmine furies -
their blooms crawl, intertwine, creep
  in a mass of emotion and impulse
      pushing ever against the center
where my garden meets that 
     ebony pond;
a barren desolate blight 
  of decay and hopelessness
the vivid chromaticity of my
   emotion
in perpetual campaign against
          the void
        that forever
    threatens to 
               consume
                    me