Rorschach
Ink blots.
Blooming, mushrooming, spiralling.
Drawing you in, deeper.
Exhorting a pull stronger than gravity.
Like hooks beyond your navel,
Tugging, dragging, wrenching,
As you kick back your heels in resistance.
Pulling, enchanting, mesmerising.
Horrifying.
Like a thousand wet fingers,
Brushing upon your face.
Enthralling, disgusting, gratifying.
Existence is random. Has no pattern, save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning, save what we choose to impose.