Ebony of Hopelessness.

​I took a journey to the back alleys of my mind.  I wandered an avenue of thoughts comparable to the neighborhood across town that mothers won’t even admit exists. Her biggest fear is her baby becoming curious of what lies beyond the picket fence, and her poor heart lacks the capability of imagining her own flesh and blood becoming a victim of disturbance. She does everything she can to protect the fruit of her womb from the dangers this world offers, and when that fruit begins straying from the safety of her sight she’ll say, “Sweetheart, stay here with mummy, please.” 
    Oh, mothers, they try so hard to save us, but they too often forget that our minds become the predators that molest us the most.  My own thoughts periodically reflect the ebony of hopelessness and my mother is dead; so, to the charming dark side I went.
    The friends I was introduced to in the depths of my thoughts aren’t friends: they’re distractions.  Once upon a time, I defended their behavior as an escape from the pain, and as bad as I wanted to live happily ever after with said distractions in my head, I needed something different: I needed a real Friend.