Shadow Lamp

My life force feels like a lamp.
A lamp that projects light and dark, depending on my mood.
On odd occasions, I can feel a spark, a flicker of flame, that ignites the shadow lamp into action.

When the shapes of black come into being, they bring me comfort. Familiarity. This place feels safe. I know the deep. I know the dark. I crave it. No one can see me and no can hurt me here. I am my own master, therefore I am impenetrable.

They bring me anguish. I have spent too much time here. Too little time in touch with the light. The shapes feel like a drug, dragging me in for one more round, one more drag, one more line in the sand that I struggle to find. I know this place isn’t healthy. I am scared, therefore I am awake.

They bring me creativity. I have always found the deep to be the place where the words are formed. They drip off the walls of my mind, and help me find ways to make sense of myself. Make sense of the world. I am at peace, therefore I am understood.