When I was a child, I’d sit for hours staring into open flame. Something in it had a power … could barely tear my eyes away. When I was a child, I heard voices. Some would sing and some would scream …
… which is exactly why NOPE, not ALL the holes in my little holes in toxic trait bucket need to be spackled, plugged up, or “fixed”.
Yes, there was a demon on my shoulder this week as I expelled the poison that had been pooling in my “just about to start morphing to black” soul for a minute “Cheeseburger & Fireworks” rant. But guess what, folks?
THAT ONE GETS TO STAY!
My fluffy little beast with a spiked collar and pit viper venom will stay chained to my dark side always to remind me to be careful where I’m spending my pearls of love and kindess. There really is a power in these open flames that are often fueled by the voices from my childhood. The good news is that I’ve firmly decided that those voices will die with me, which is exactly why I’ll be keeping some of them so close to me on a leash. Meanwhile, here’s to a repeat appearance of one HELL of an ode, if not love song to my little pets!
The Diary Of My Perfection 
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