[A small piece of darkness for you, scribbled down while I was on a train to London. I usually carry a notebook, but didn't have it with me this particular day; so wrote "In my head" along the bottom of a free newspaper. Imagine if I'd left the paper on the train and someone else had picked it up to read.]
Like some hideous Jack-in-the-box, waiting until all is quiet to pop open, it sits patiently poised, the tension of its rusty spring, held back only by a paper thin veneer. It listens to my life, and chooses its moment carefully to spring out and surprise me. The memories come flooding back, like waves of acid washing over my body. The pain is so unbearable sometimes; that I just have to look the other way; away from all that is my past and history.