I am not a colouring book. You cannot fill me with the colours of your choice.
I am warm and gentle, so much so that I carefully melt flakes of snow, one each at a time.Though I garner great strengths of destruction, I seldom use them. I devastate when my gentleness transforms into fury, then these innocent flakes of snow suddenly become murderous storms.It is a reaction to a very malignant syndrome.
I have recently developed the H.D.D. or the Human Distaste Disorder. A disorder born not out of a deficiency, but out of superfluity of a commonly found being.
Its population floods my body with trillions and eats voraciously into all my resources.
The common symptoms of this hazardous disorder are:
The sparseness of my dense green grows and the parched-ness of my flourishing fluids.
Black vile, wisps of smoke suffocating me and chunks of waste, white and stretchable,choking me and throttling my soul.
Tolerance gives up on me, and I vomit my fluids, sometimes I cry and whimper. Then further and further I melt in agony.
Now the chaos has completely deafened me. The smoke has completely blinded me.
Yet they do not hear my plea.
They play. They pirouette, triumphant over innovations; unaware of the inevitable devastation they invite, their end and my cure.