Into the sinkhole

The river of worries, always tangled up in the present.

There are none more inundating than the pervasive daggers, unwanted and given the majority position.

The inertia gives them space, a collection of content trash driven into a introspective sinkhole.

Let them in, they said. To what end?

Go ahead — invite them over. But by all means, refuse to serve them tea on the spot.